Stranded
by Blackberry Avar
Summary: Washed up on a deserted island by chasing the Heir, it is all Astrid can do to keep from starving or, worse, freezing to death. Her fate is sealed when she takes on a rogue, wounded dragon and loses. Right? AUverse and some humor. Soon to be finished.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. This is my first fanfic, so please leave some constructive criticism. I'll be having a quote every chapter, and your job is to find out where it's from. Somebody please teach me how to do stuttering. I'm bad at it.**

" ** _Deserves_ _it!_ _I_ _daresay_ _he_ does _._ _Many_ _that_ _live_ _deserve_ _death_. _And_ _some_ _that_ _die_ _deserve_ _life_. _Can_ _you_ _give_ _it_ _to_ _them?_ _Then_ _do_ _not_ _be_ _too_ _eager_ _to_ _deal_ _out_ _death_ _in_ _judgement_. _For_ _even_ _the_ _very_ _wise_ _cannot_ _see_ _all_ _ends_. _"_ **

**The game that Stoick and Gobber are playing is a dragon trivia game invented by Fishlegs to help him remember called Trick of Fire. It quickly caught on and became modified by the elders into what it is today. I'll tell you how it's played later.**

 **Sea- A nautical term for waves.**

 **Updated December 26th, 2018, as of this rewrite.**

* * *

Gobber looked down at the reflection in his pitcher, thinking. What was it that had him so concerned? Stoick. His friend had not been himself lately. It was as if he was getting into that mood again, the one where he forewent his usually solid judgment to pursue that devil nest.

The smith watched as Stoick sighed and put down his tankard of mead. Contrary from what one would expect, Stoick liked his drinks light, whereas Gobber liked his spunk high in alcohol and low on the sweet. It was wine vs beer all over again, and Gobber had made many jibes about it with his old friend. It wasn't really dangerous, seeing as though it took a day and a half of steady drinking to get the chief drunk.

The elder Haddock had ordered another search for the dragons hideout, though all those before had been fruitless. The fact that the expeditions were only partly for his revenge didn't help much.

Gobber could remember the scene almost as if he were still there. It had only been a few hours ago, and his mind was still sharp, whetted by his years of dangerous work.

"We will find their home and take it, then the devils will leave," he had said. "One more search, before the ice sets in. It's the only way."

That was only part of what he had said – it was the same old argument all over again, complete will the obligatory 'it's the only way' that he had been spouting since The Incident.

As it was, no one had wanted to go until the chief had told all those staying behind that they would have to keep an eye on his boy, the boy who also happened to be Gobber's apprentice. Hiccup.

"Stoick," What's on yeh?" Gobber broke in on his reverie. "Yeh've been a bit off lately."

"Hiccup." Spoken drily. "Someday that boy will be Chief. But he just isn't a viking Gobber. How can he be Chief when he can't even look the part. Hell, he can't even play the part. I had to clean up his mess the other night when he claimed he shot down a night fury."

"He's smart though. Yeh gotta give 'im that."

"He might be smart, but he won't be able to make choices when it matters most. I've seen 'im. And he won't be able to handle a wife either. He locks up whenever a girl so much as looks at 'im."

"All the more reason to start training him to be Chief. You and I won't always be here for him Stoick, all we can do is prepare him for the world before we die. I say give the boy a chance."

For a moment it seemed that Stoick might like the idea. His eyes wavered only a little, but Gobber saw it for what it was. The smith held his breath as Stoick considered, but the Chief only sighed and reached for a stack of wooden chips that had been lying on the table next to him.

It would take time for Stoick to unwind. Gobber brought a small handful of cards out from one of his pockets, of which there were many. Etched into the faces of the pieces were carven images of beasts, both dragons and others drawn only from Viking legend. On their backs were the signature of the village's budding craftsman, an Ingerman.

This was a game both of them had played many times since its invention; a hobby they indulged in when they were idle, though that did not happen often. For a minute neither of them talked, each busy sorting their pieces and picking their hand. Gobber broke in, shuffling his cards as he spoke.

"I have an idea," he said, slowly, as he struggled to hold on to the flitting thought.

"What is it?" asked Stoick. He flipped two cards face up on the middle of the table."I put Gronckle, extra strength. Counter or draw?"

'I don't have anything to deal with that combination, except for the Nightmare, but I'm saving that card,' thought Gobber, but he kept these thoughts to himself and put on a bluff.

Stoick looked at Gobber intently. "Draw," said the smith. Stoick took three chips and flipped the extra strength into the discards. Gobber drew a save out of the pile, which was rare. He sneaked it into his sleeve for 'safekeeping' and played a Terror to weaken his opponent.

"What if we sent Hiccup on a voyage, to prove himself, go a viking, that sort of thing." Gobber said.

"He'll mess up before the ship leaves the dock, never mind sailing. He'll slip on something and spill the months rations as soon as you turn around." said Stoick.

The problem was that he had no faith in his son.

"Yeh don't know that," said Gobber.

"Yes, I do."

"No, no yeh don't,"

"Yes, I do,"

"All I'm saying is to give the boy a chance, Stoick. Children are like a piece of hot metal."

"Here we go again." said Stoick. He had heard this analogy before.

"Yeh need to shape them in the way you want, otherwise it'll just be a piece of scrap, and you only have so much time to do it before your material cools. Hiccup isn't going to be like that forever Stoick. He's already-" Stoick 'put' a dragon card. Timberjack, dangerous.

"Counter?" Stoick was trying to divert Gobber's attention. It worked.

Gobber rolled the dice with his Nightmare, hating to use it so early in the game. His roll was good, but not good enough. Stoick's cards had been knocked out of the fight, but his best dragon was useless. The smith drew reinforcements, hoping Stoick had played his most powerful card at the beginning of the game.

"I don't want to risk a ship just for Hiccup's sake. We could send him to the Meatheads to renew our treaty. That's due in a few weeks now, and we have to renew the agreement every year. We have to send someone important, especially if I'm going off to hunt for the nest."

'He's coming around now,' thought Gobber, 'but he's still dead set on the hunt. What a shame.'

"There's another reason why I'm proposing this Stoick. Yeh know Astrid is pretty much destined to be the heir's husband, for politics." More statement than question there.

"And you'd prefer that Astrid like him? She hates the boy right now."

"Exactly. I think she'd be more liable to not go running off on wedding day if she respected him at least." Gobber said, then added, "A chief should know his men, and be in good faith with them. Yeh should be the one to know that of all people Stoick."

Their conversation went back and forth for hours, even after the vikings all left for the night. Finally Stoick won their game two out of three, so Gobber went back to the forge not knowing whether he had convinced Stoick or not. He didn't really care at the moment though. He was too tired.

The next morning Stoick began loading the ships. He was gone in the afternoon.

Gobber returned to the forge, where he found Hiccup pounding at a sword to get it back in shape.

"More work? " asked Hiccup, "Cause I could really use some more work." He gestured sarcastically to the pile of weapons on the bench waiting to be fixed. They had been broken in the last raid.

"Actually, you won't be having to do that Hiccup."

"Really?" Hiccup's expression was impossible to read.

"Pack your stuff, we leave for Meathead island tomorrow. And don't yeh think about getting up to your tricks. I know you."

Hiccup went from nonchalance to shock in a matter of seconds.

"Wha..What? Why am I going to Meathead island?"

"Your father's giving you more responsibility. Better not blow it. Behave. Well. Right." said Gobber, then added, "I'll take care of those swords for you."

"Thanks Gobber." said Hiccup. He was sincere at least, thought Gobber with satisfaction.

Gobber took an axe and started sharpening it on the grinder. It was peddle-powered and made by Hiccup. He had never had one that worked so well. It never jammed, never dulled and it was easy to use. Hiccup was a genius.

He repositioned the axe to sharpen evenly. When it was done Gobber put it down on the finished bench and wrote 'Salty Hofferson's axe, repaired. G" in his repair book. It was another one of Hiccup's ideas. The book made it easier for Gobber to keep accounts of what he had and what he hadn't. Nowadays he only did a small part of the work and Hiccup did the rest.

Hiccup was in his corner now, a little tent of sorts that Hiccup had made by hanging blankets up. It was his private workspace, the place where he had built Gobber's grinder and where he had embellished Astrid's axe.

Gobber finished late that night and helped to load the last of the supplies on board their ship. The boat which they were taking to the Meatheads was the smallest of them all, and their only warship that Stoick hadn't taken. New warships were already being built in anticipation of their losses from the nest hunt. Their crew was the usual for a treaty mission, except now Stoick wasn't on board. Phlegma was there, as well as Fishlegs and Astrid. Astrid had come of her own accord, for reasons she had kept to herself.

'Perhaps she was protecting Hiccup," Gobber thought.

He didn't think so. Since when did she care about Hiccup? She was probably trying to earn prestige for her family as a young shield-maiden. She could handle herself.

* * *

That had been two weeks ago. Now Gobber was standing on the deck of a viking longship, looking uneasily out on an approaching fall tempest.

Hiccup had proved to be better than anyone had imagined. The poor lad was actually quite good at diplomacy, and had managed to make good friends with Thuggory during the four days they had been at Meathead island.

Maybe he was good for something after all, despite his obvious physical failings as a Viking, though the Meatheads were better than most. The boy would need to beef up if he was ever to interact with the other tribes, especially if he was challenged to a duel.

Gobber shivered. The thought bothered him, but he found there was more irritating the hairs on the back of his neck than Hiccup's size.

"Looks like a bad storm." said Phlegma.

"Aye." said Gobber.

"We still have about an hour before it breaks," said the shield-maiden.

"Get into the hold Hiccup, yeh don't want to fall overboard," said Gobber.

"Yes, Gobber," said Hiccup. "Do you want me to bring up some sardines while we wait?"

"Stop joking around and get down there." said Gobber. "Yeh never know what might happen, and it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to you."

Hiccup gave Gobber the evil eye but jumped into the dark, damp hold, lit only by the flickering sea lantern of a sturdy seaman. He closed the hatch.

Gobber spent the next few minutes feeling the breeze pick up. Steadily the wind had gone from slightly annoying to worrying, as howling gusts whistled through the mainsail and bit at exposed skin.

"This one's a killer." said Gobber.

"Secure the deck!" shouted Phlegma.

"Yes ma'am", shouted the Quartermaster, one Screech Ingerman. He was raising his voice to a good pitch now, trying to be heard over the wind. A strong musty smell filled the air, but it was strangely crisp.

Sleet, thought Gobber. If rain was bad and snow was worse, sleet was the unholy combination of the two. It froze to anything it touched, ropes, fingers, rudders and mainmasts. The only thing a mariner hated more than a cold sleet was hail, for it ripped holes in exposed cloth, tearing the sails and rendering a ship useless; it could even kill a man if the icy balls were big enough. There might be hail from the looks of it, but there would surely be sleet.

He could hear the rumble of thunder, louder now. The wind began to pick up and the ocean spray was blinding. Men began to hurry.

"Furl the mainsail! Tighten the jibs!," Phlegma yelled, struggling to be heard over the din. "Fasten your belts to the deck. I won't have anyone going overboard on my watch."

"Everyone have their safety ropes on?!" shouted Screech, now living up to his name.

A chorus of aye's rang throughout the ship.

The waves started pounding on the broadside of the boat as the storm built to its full fury, though it was hardly there yet. The sheets of rain and sleet were deceiving, and the visibility range had closed to less than three score of feet. A man standing on the aft quarterdeck of the longship would've been hard pressed to see the bows. A trio of sailors hung on the boom of the mainmast by a thread, working to roll up the sail.

If the sails couldn't be furled, the ship would be driven by the wind, scudding along at the mercy of the storm. Eventually she might turn sideways, and when that happened she would capsize. The gale would push at her beam and catch at her sails and then the ship would roll over and sink, perhaps splinter, scattering her unfortunate crewman to the tender mercies of the northern oceans. They would be frozen solid in a quarter of an hour, dead in another fifteen minutes, assuming they could find a piece of driftwood to float on. Without something to hold on to death would come sooner even than that.

They had to run with the wind. Every man knew the risks. So it was that the helmsman's cry came at the worst possible time.

"The wind's switching directions! Gusts from the starboard bow!"

The ship, which had been pitching and bucking like a sailor drunk suddenly began to lean to port as the deck slid out from under the feet of her crew.

"Heave to! Turn to port!" screamed Screech.

"I can't!" yelled the helmsman. "The tiller is jammed!"

"Is it broken!" came the reply.

"I don't know!"

A wave rolled over the beam, drenching two men who were coming to the helm's aid and splashing over the deck. If the tiller was broken, all was lost.

"The ship's rolling over, we can't keep her upright forever!"

A shout came from the quarterdeck, muffled by the pouring rain. "We're taking on water in the hold! There's a leak under the waterline!"

"Start bailing!" shouted Gobber. "We can't afford to flood!"

The ship rolled again and this time the railings met the sea. There was no way they could survive at this rate. The hull settled and the boat sunk lower into the ocean. They were sinking.

The hatch to the hold opened and Hiccup climbed out, drenched by sleet. Frozen raindrops clung to the hem of his tunic and his clothing was soaked. In the tumult no one noticed that he had no safety rope. They were all busy trying to save the ship. And they were failing. The storm was too strong, the waves too high, the hull too filled with water for them to recover on their own.

Gobber fell to his knees and prayed to the Gods. "Oh Thor and Odin All-father! Save us, if you care for your people!"

For one, terrible, terrible moment, there was no change. Then the wind died down, if only for a second. And when it blew again, it came from the stern. They were saved.

The ship pitched and bucked horribly, but they were alive. The storm began to die down but they struggled on for another two hours, bailing water. The leak in the hull could not be fixed, only contained, and Hiccup had to stay on the deck as well as Astrid.

The torrent of rain softened, if only a little, and Gobber saw a dim shape to his left.

"Rocks off the port bow sir!" Screech, bless his sharp eyes. Gobber could hardly keep his eyes open against the constant assault of sleet, much less keep an eye out for shoals.

Then several things happened at once.

A shock buckled the planks of the ship. She had struck a rock below the waterline and impaled herself, the deadly flooding staunched only by the hard granite.

Caught off guard by the sudden shift, Hiccup stumbled and fell against the port railing, almost going overboard but catching himself on the sturdy wood. Gobber let out a breath of relief. But fate was not on the boy's side. A rogue wave roared over the starboard beam. Weakened by the hours of constant bending, the railing broke, and Hiccup tumbled off the side.

The safety rope should've caught him, but it didn't, because he didn't have one on. He had never gotten one when he went down into the hold and he had forgotten his when he had come above deck later. In the confusion, no one had seen it.

For the rest of his life Gobber would remember Hiccup plunging towards the water in slow motion, with his hand grasping for the ship in one last attempt at survival, his face lit only by the dim light of the ship's storm lantern. Then there was a splash, and he was swallowed by the waves.

"Noooo!" he cried, and then he was gone.

"Hiccup!" yelled Astrid. She untied her safety rope and dived in after him.

"Astrid!" roared Gobber, but it was too late to save them. There was a chance, a tiny chance, that they would make it to the deck. Gobber rushed over to the side of the ship, but he couldn't see them. If they couldn't get back on board, at least he wished them a quick death.

* * *

The water was cold, numbing my senses. From a later standpoint, I can't tell exactly you why I jumped after Hiccup. It all made sense in the heat of the moment, but it's probably the most crazy thing I've ever done in my life. After riding on a dragon of course. We'll get to that later.

I couldn't see Hiccup. I looked around, treading water before a sea knocked me in the face and I was submerged. My lungs felt like bursting from the pressure, but I've always been a decent swimmer, and I kicked my feet down and propelled myself to the top. I struggled for a bit, then I was clear. I coughed out water that had gotten into my lungs. I saw a little brown dot riding the crest of the next sea and I dove after him.

Hiccup was half drowned, he had been caught off guard when he was thrown off the ship. Typical. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and looked up to get my bearings. Only to find that there was no land in sight.

Hold on, hold on. The cold was starting to get to me. I had no clue how long we'd been in the water. My fingers were numb, and I feared that I'd drop Hiccup into the sea. I could see a beach in front of me. Using the last of my strength I swam for it. It was now or never. A large sea caught me from behind and picked me up. I was sent tumbling head over heels. The very breath was sucked out of my lungs and it slammed me into the sand, and I saw no more.

* * *

I woke up feeling very cold and stiff.

To my left was a small plain, stretching away into the distance. It was rocky and there was a large hill in the middle with some trees on it. To my right was a sleet-covered forest. Some of the trees had already broken and were laying split on the ground, the others looked slippery. It was lightly snowing, and if I opened my mouth I could feel the burn of snowflakes melting on my tongue.

The pound of surf sounded distant to my ears, yet I remember being thrown onto a beach. Where am I? And how did I get here?


	2. Chapter 2, Escape!

**A/N I'm going to keep the zeros and o's that make the time separation lines. I can't cater to everyone, sorry Meraki.**

 **All the quotes will be from a book, so don't worry about having to watch back all those presidential broadcasts and movies.**

" **Curiouser and Curiouser"**

 **-?**

 **If you are the first to figure out the quote, I'll put your name in the chapter and give you a victory cookie.**

 **(::)**

 **This chapter was made while listening to _pumping adrenaline 1._ It's a good song, and I hope you'll enjoy it.**

 **Guess who Ocean is. It's not that hard.**

" _ **The influence of Nayla upon Ocean cannot be underestimated, as she provided moral support in a time of need, also helping Ocean materially, all while keeping a secret from perhaps the best interrogators in the Drohirrim."**_

 _ **-The Berkian Book of History: The Fall.**_

 _ **Dro-heer-eem.**_

It had been a simple raid. Tempest had been sick, but she had wanted to go. She wanted to prove that she could help the nest. She hadn't come back with enough food to satiate the Queen. She had only dropped a single fish in the pit and had cowered in a small pile of rocks away from the Queen's lair to hide from her inevitable wrath.

Sure enough, the Queen was hungry, and she had climbed up her hole until she was staring directly at Tempest's piece of cover.

" **How dare you come back with only a small** **cod** **!"**

Tempest was forced to turn and look at The Red Death.

She opened her mouth, then stuttered and couldn't find her words.

" **Any excuses, hmmm?"**

"I-I, I was so hungry. It w-was only a little."

" **How many times have I told you to do your own fishing. My orders must be obeyed." the Queen had said, then added, "Guards! Bring her to me. I must make an example of her."**

Two Gronckle guards brought Tempest to the edge of the cave and threw her in.

The Queen snapped her up in a single bite. She was so huge that Tempest wasn't even a mouthful.

The sickening crunch of bones reverberated through the cave. Ocean could see it all.

She was shocked. Tempest was her mother. She had never thought that the Queen might kill her. She couldn't say anything, for she was rooted to the ground and all she could seem to do was watch. From that moment on she knew she feared The Red Death, and would do anything to avoid being eaten. There was a little hate buried in the back, but it was too afraid to come out.

" **Th** **is** **is what happens when someone disobeys. Take note. All obey ME! I am your Queen."**

It was at that moment that she had passed out.

No one had the guts to even apologize to Ocean for her loss, for none dared risk her wrath. What's done is done, the elders had said, and that was that. Only Stulte..

Ocean's nightmare shifted. Now she was standing with her father on a sea-stack. He had taught her how to fly. She could still remember his warm voice. He was dead now, killed by a viking while trying to steal a sheep to appease the Queen.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes father, it is. Look at all the flowers."

They stood there for a while admiring the view, until her father interrupted the silence.

"Tell me child, how did we get here?"

"We flew!" she chirped.

"You flew. I will always be proud of my little baby."

He called her all those sweet names, but she didn't care. Now he was gone. Another victim of the vikings. She could hear him calling her.

"Wake up Ocean."

The sound kept pounding in her head. She was confused, until she realized she was asleep. It was probably morning now.

She woke up with a start.

It was Nayla's voice. She had probably gotten bored in the morning and come to play. Nayla had always been a dragon who wanted to wake up at some ungodly hour and then crash in the afternoon, out cold.

Morning dragons.

"Go back to sleep Nayla. I'm tired." Her morning voice, though a bit shaken from her dream.

"It's early in the morning, nobody else is up. We can play together! Isn't that fun!"

Nayla was a adolescent Nadder with more energy than a Terrible Terror. She was a few years younger than Ocean, with a well-defined shape, she would be very pretty when she grew up, though her face had not lost all of it's baby fat yet. She was not quite clumsy, but often suffered from errors in judgment that would put a Zippelback to shame.

Her pranks had cost the nest sometimes and she was always being punished for it. In fact, she was supposed to be being punished now, locked up in the barrows for the rest of the morning. She had slipped out. Ocean didn't blame her. Dragons hated being imprisoned. It went against their very nature to fly. Kind of like the nest. Ocean kept that thought to herself.

Her scales were yellow and her spines green. She had a white belly like Ocean, but her crest was a mix of colors. Her nose was a bit big on her, though she had a good sense of smell. Her eyes were light yellow, and seemed to see absolutely everything. Everything that was trouble that is.

Nayla's voice was babyish and her vocabulary limited, so everyone tended to underestimate her. Ocean privately suspected that she knew more than she let on, especially after she had somehow managed to simultaneously pull three different pranks, each on a different floor of the nest. Her ability to make dragons miserable was not to be underestimated.

"There's a reason why everyone's asleep Nayla. A well rested dragon is a happy dragon." One of her father's quotes.

"And the early dragon gets the fish. Stop sleeping in and come play with me!"

 _Using my own father's words against me. Clever._

"I'll be up in a minute. Deal?"

Nayla considered for a moment, then shook her head yes.

"Deal. I'm counting."

"I didn't mean literally!"

"A deals a deal. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one..."

Ocean just shielded her head between her wings and tried to ignore her.

"Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.."

Ocean pulled her wings in tighter.

"You don't have to do that out loud!"

A few moments passed, in which Ocean fidgeted about on the cold stone unable to get any real rest because Nayla was constantly breathing in her ears when she talked. If dragons had been able to clamp their claws over their ears, Ocean would have been the first to do so.

"Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! Time to get up."

Nayla tugged on her wing and Ocean had to give way. She made a big show of it, but inside she was happy to leave the nest, if only for a little while. She had been feeling stifled for the last few days and she wanted some fresh air.

They flew to the beach and played no-fly tag for a while in the morning sun. She generally won, even if she did cheat just a little.

"Hey, no fair! You're flying away!"

"I'm not 'flying', I'm gliding, can't you see that."

"It's still cheating!"

They bickered and made up and bickered and made up all morning. She was good friends with Nayla. Eventually they got tired of tag and started playing fly and seek.

Ocean was bigger than Nayla, and so fared worse than her, as her tail would stick out wherever she went and Nayla would inevitably find her.

It was just the opposite for Nayla. Ocean couldn't understand how the little bugger disappeared so quickly. Maybe it was her experience playing pranks on the elders, or perhaps some trick of the eyes, she didn't know.

Eventually she gave up trying to look around for her and pretended to groom herself to see if her friend would peek. She looked around, while trying not to look around and failed quite hilariously.

" _You can't do anything half-way." That was another one of her father's wise words._

Nayla couldn't resist peeking, and Ocean caught a brief yellow flash on the rocks above her. Instead of heading straight for them she stepped lightly into a gully and disappeared from her friend's sight.

She knew this area better than Nayla and used that to her advantage. She knew that the gully split and approached Nayla's hiding place from behind, and she knew that if Nayla heard her she wouldn't be able to catch her, so she tried to be quiet as an Indian. Tried.

According to the rules of the game she had to find Nayla _and_ touch her to win, and she couldn't do that if she was stubbing her claw on every last rock on the island.

The rock walls closed in on her and a cloud covered the sun. Her heart started beating faster. She slipped on a rock, which went bounding down the corridor.

She stood still for a moment, waiting for any noise betraying that her friend had detected her. She didn't worry about her scent, as she and Nayla had both dunked themselves in the water and were now clean.

The only downside was that she couldn't smell her friend either, and now had to depend on her lesser senses like touch and hearing.

The cloud passed and it was light again. Ocean thought she could see a small green object lying on the ground. She examined it.

" _Many things can be gained just by taking a closer look."_

It was one of Nayla's spines. It looked like it had been knocked against a rock and fallen off. Probably from when the dragon had pulled back to avoid being looked at, she thought. She traced its path in her mind and followed it.

Nayla could not be far now. The joy of the hunt filled her veins and she scanned the ground rapidly for her prey. She glided forward,(Not literally), every fiber of her being focused on her goal. The goal. Nothing else mattered but her and the prey.

Suddenly she could feel a presence close to her own. A secondary breath was in time with her. She clawed up to the next rock and looked down. Nobody. She had to be nearby. But where? Ocean investigated a few more crevices and rocks, and nothing escaped her gaze, for Nayla could fit anywhere.

She started to feel like Nayla was toying with her. Of course! Nayla was more experienced at this kind of thing. She might as well give up.

" _Never_ _give_ _up and never lose faith. It is only from hard work that we reap the benefits of life." Her father's words came unbidden to her mind._ He was right, she shouldn't give up.

Ocean took one last peek over another rock and saw Nayla looking the other way. She gave her a light tap on the shoulder and gave a victory crow.

"It's about time! I win. Do you want to cloud watch?"

Nayla faked a fit of sulking over her loss, but then nodded her head yes, and they sat down on the rocks together.

"That one looks like a fire stream," said Nayla.

"That one looks like a wave."

"Which one?"

"The big one in the back curling up. See?" Ocean pointed at it.

"I think it looks like a wing."

While they were arguing the cloud changed shape and assumed the appearance of a scythe.

"The sun's getting in my eyes," said Nayla, "Maybe we should sit under that tree over there." She pointed to her right.

"This coming from the dragon who has eyes the color of the daylight." said Ocean.

The Red Death had done her best to eradicate all life on the island, besides draconian of course, but there were still a few trees and sheaves of grass in off places. They were sitting under one now, the only ash tree on the island. Ocean sat happily under it, enjoying the breeze and the soft rustle of leaves as the air caressed them. A breath of wind brushed her cheek and was gone.

The scene reminded Ocean of the dream she'd had earlier. A flower waved in the wind, as if to mark her father's grave. The traitorous vikings had ended his life.

But then a rebellious thought appeared in her head. She swatted it away. It came back.

Maybe the vikings weren't evil monsters, maybe they were just protecting their things, like a dragon protected his mate. Maybe…

Ocean didn't notice that Nayla had left her side until she turned around to talk to her and she wasn't there. What was she up to?

She flew up to the nest, hoping to catch her in one of her tricks. Once Nayla had pranked a young dragon into going into old dragon Grinch's cave to get 'A basket of dried water'. The old Nightmare who lived in it was 'affectionately' named Grinch by practically the entire nest, though Ocean thought he smelled like mildew.

The young male had come running out like a deer, completely spooked. Nobody dared talk to Grinch except the Queen, and even then she kept her discussions short. Somehow he had become her second in command, perhaps because he was completely paranoid, like the Queen.

He doubted anybody and everybody. Nayla had cut it close by annoying him. He wouldn't kill you outright, but he could make your life miserable, and nobody could stop him from doing it for fear of being reported.

Ocean eventually gave up looking for Nayla and settled down in her favorite resting spot, hoping to catch up to her tricks.

She was tired, and she took the opportunity for a rest. Her wings were sore and she started rubbing them on a rock to massage them. She was starting to feel stifled again, for some reason the nest air no longer felt cozy, but rather felt like a choke on her breathing. She was glad that Nayla had woken her up when she did.

The nest had begun to wake up for the morning. All but the late risers were now up and about their business.

Nayla hadn't come back yet, but Ocean wasn't worried, in fact, she was thinking about her own problems.

"You look bad, Ocean. What's bothering you." said a voice.

It was Stulte. Stulte was her best friend, and her love, though he lived on the other side of the crater. Around the bend as they called it. He was the only one to take notice of her when her mother died, and she felt grateful for his attentions.

For now they had settled into a long distance relationship, though lately Ocean had been feeling something more.

His colors matched Ocean almost perfectly, though his belly was perhaps a little creamier too. His personality felt like a perfect match to hers, and she was almost to the point of knowing what he was going to say before he said it.

He was gentle, kind, smart, and in short all the things Ocean was, maybe a little extra too.

"It's nothing," said Ocean, though she knew that wasn't true.

Stulte sighed.

"I know something is eating you, and I can't stand to see that. I came around the bend to have fun, not sit around feeling sorry for myself."

Ocean considered his offer for a moment, then nodded.

"I've been feeling.. stifled lately. I feel like I want open air and freedom. Freedom!"

"I see. I've been feeling the same way for a few days now." Stulte said, then added, "Freedom to go on the raids or something more?"

"I want something more Stulte," Ocean knew she shouldn't be confessing this to him. After all he still served the Queen. He might report her to the Gronckles or even old dragon Grinch.

"I want to be free just for the sake of being free. No more raids, just us and the wind. The means to carry out our own wishes, our own goals."

Stulte was silent for a bit. After a spot of thinking he spoke up.

"I find that idea strangely attractive. It's like a tug in my veins pulling me away from here, but the Queen's influence is strong in me." he said, then remarked, "I feel like the rope in a game of tug-of-war. It's a bit of a thrill, really."

"I feel like that too."

"We need to talk about some things." said Stulte and Ocean nearly at the same time.

"Uh..You go first." Stulte.

"No, you go first." Ocean.

"I'm pretty sure that you should go first."

"No, you should go first."

"Alright."

Stulte cleared his throat and began.

"I've been thinking through for some time, and I think this might be important."

"What is it?"

Stulte flicked his eyes around the small hole in the dirt they were in to make sure that what they said was for their ears alone.

"I'm thinking that we should fly away from this place."

"And leave your parents hanging?"

"They hardly care about me. They've swallowed the propaganda and I should know. Bomb dropped, now it's your turn."

"I've been thinking about Vikings. They aren't what you think they are. They're not evil or bad, they're just protecting their home."

Stulte was surprised and couldn't hide it well enough. He coughed.

When he spoke his tone was skeptical.

"I don't believe that. They're evil creatures, more evil than the Queen, I dare say. Why do they come and try to invade the nest if not to kill us for the fun of it!"

Ocean subconsciously shifted to distance herself from Stulte.

"Now it sounds like you've fallen for the propaganda. Look at it from their point of view. Dragons are the enemy and they're just trying to get rid of us the only way they know how. They're Vikings, not philosophers. The only reason they're attacking us is because they're being attacked."

"One way or another, it all comes back to the devil on the throne." Stulte said.

"What are you talking about?"

 _Nayla, and at the worst possible time too! Drat! She'll turn us in._

"Are you two lovebirds having fun together or is it something else?"

If dragons could blush Ocean would be bright red.

Stulte stammered.

"N-nothing. Heh heh. We were just talking."

"I have an eye for trouble when I see it, you're up to something and I know it."

Ocean had to fight to keep from acting on impulse and telling another lie.

" _As soon as you tell a lie, you'll have to tell more until somebody realizes you're lying and you are dishonored. Better to tell the truth and feel the pain now than experience much more pain later"_

Her father's words came to her and Ocean decided she would take a leap of faith.

"She's a friend, we can trust her." she whispered to Stulte.

Then she said to Nayla.

"Can you keep a secret."

Nayla nodded.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" said Ocean, who held her hands over her heart.

Nayla didn't hesitate.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." said Nayla, in a firm voice, though she instinctively reached to her chest to make sure that her heart was still beating.

"We're thinking about running away. To the Mainland."

Stulte spluttered.

"We never agreed on that!"

"Shh." whispered Ocean.

"How do I help?"

 **A/N I'm a little disappointed with the** **mid to late** **part of the chapter.**

 **3** **k word count. Whoo Hoo!** **Ocean has a love interest. I told you there wasn't going to be any hicstrid but that doesn't have mean there's no romance. What do you think I should do with Nayla?**


	3. Chapter 3, Intrigue

**A/N**

 **Passage** **of the day.**

" ** _ **Dragons steal gold and jewels, you know, from men and elves and dwarves, wherever they can find them; and they guard their plunder as long as they live (which is practically forever, unless they are killed), and never enjoy a brass ring of it. Indeed they hardly know a good bit of work from a bad, though they usually have a good notion of the current market value; and they can't make a thing for themselves, not even mend a little loose scale of their armour.**_** ** _ **"**_**

 **-?**

 **C** **ongratulations to**

 **The quote from chapter two** **was from** **A** **lice in** **W** **onderland, though I was thinking of the book, not the movie.**

 **Enjoy your victory cookie!**

 **(::)**

 **This chapter was made listening** **to** _ **The Chain**_ **by Fleetwood Mac.** **The end** **part was made while** **listening to** **the** _ **Castle In The Sky**_ **theme song** **.**

 **These are great works of art and you should check them out.**

 **I might take a creative break in the near future, so don't worry if I go dark.**

 **Dragons like** **things** **that** **are** **shiny (other than weapons** **of course** **), and will trade you for commodities with** **any precious metal** **. They generally get** **these** **by stealing from vikings and bartering with sea dragons for them,** **who "salvage" valuables from sunken ships.**

 **Stulte is another dragon who has lost both parents.**

It was a cold night, one of the last before winter, yet an unnatural cloud of dense fog floated thickly over the ocean.

A line of dark shapes appeared in the mist. There would be a raid tonight. More appeared, then even more. All told, over fifty dragons broached the fog and headed southwest, to a small island the humans called Berk.

A few minutes passed. The raiding dragons passed out of sight. Two new shapes erupted, this time flying straight east. They were escapees, fugitives of The Red Death.

 _Flashback: Two days before Escape._

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

Nayla's P.O.V

"How do I help?" Nayla asked.

"You can cover for us while we're flying out. After we go you can say I fell sick with eel pox or something. That way we'll be out of Her reach before She even knows we're gone."

"How would we get out?" Nayla looked serious and had abandoned her chirping, baby happy demeanor over night.

"We could sneak out at night. I thought you knew a back way through the nest."

"I do, but the Guard will be watching."

"The Guard doesn't watch the back passage, at least I wouldn't think they would. I wouldn't worry. Besides, the longer we wait, the larger the chances of Him coming back."

"Up to a point."

"Now hold on a minute!" Stulte cut in. "I never agreed to this. What if we're noticed! I didn't really mean to run away and now you guys are acting like I was serious!"

"Were you serious?" Ocean asked the obvious.

"It was an ill thought out idea. I never should of thought to run away in the first place."

"Then let's make it into a better idea. I could use some adventure." said Ocean, then added, "The only real change is brought about by those who are courageous, as my father used to say, and I think he was right."

"My pranks were getting boring, I could use a spot of derring-do," said Nayla.

"My question is, are you in or are you not?" said to Stulte.

Stulte had to think long and hard.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Good. We'll need supplies, rope and such, as well as writing material just in case we need to send a letter to your family. You never know how useful parchment is until you don't have any." Nayla.

"Letter paper won't be a problem," said Nayla, "but the rope is in the storeroom next to Grinch's cave. Stealing it won't be easy."

"I trust you."

Nayla nodded and ran off, her head full of excitement, and perhaps a bit of doubt. She was very afraid of the Guard and of Grinch. A conversation started itself in her head. It went a little like this.

 _It's probably just a bout of young stupidity like I have every little while. Just a little more if I don't follow through with this? Ocean will forget about it in a while._

 _But Ocean said she trusted me, she's my best friend._

 _The Guard might catch us stealing the rope. I'm scared._

 _Don't be, this is for your friend's sake._

 _We can wait a little longer._

 _What was the saying. That you can't do anything half-way. Get a hold of yourself._

 _But what if we get caught, what happens?_

 _We won't get caught._

 _How can we be sure?_

Nayla tried to swallow her doubts, but they were making inner turmoil. Nayla elected to get the paper right away and get the rope after her nap, when Grinch would likely be eating his dinner, and not in the mood to chase young rope stealing dragons around the nest. Stealing nest materials was a capital crime that would probably end her freedom or even her life should she be caught.

She directed her steps toward the The Post office, which was halfway 'round the bend but on the same tier, slowing down to look less suspicious.

At this point in the afternoon most dragons had already eaten and were resting in their craters or their nests, which made normally made them easy to prank.

Manning the counter was Frot, another one of her friends. He was an employee of The Post, at most times preferring a quiet life as a cashier to getting into shenanigans like others his age. At most times.

The station was made of rock, and was actually just a counter set into a barrow that served as a dispatch station. The Queen ruled over more than one island, and sometimes she needed to communicate between them.

Families also used The Post to conduct business and catch up to each other, though the fee was expensive.

"Good afternoon Nayla. Are you mailing another one of your father's letters today?" he asked in an amused tone.

"I'm actually here for some letter parchment. Could you give me some, I ran out yesterday."

Frot had to dive under the stone counter because he was too small to reach under it without looking undignified. His answer came out a little muffled.

"How much?"

"Two large rolls **[** **1** **]** , give or take."

Frot raised his eyebrows, though Nayla couldn't see it.

"That's a big amount, even for you." he said.

"I like to have a bit around all the time."

Frot snorted.

"That's still quite a bit of parchment. Do you want some stamps just in case you want to, oh I don't know, have a bit around all the time?" the last part of his sentence was slow and deliberate.

"Just one roll of stamps please. I have some at home."

"Two _large_ rolls of parchment and some stamps coming right up."

Frot put up the paper with no trouble, but they were hanging on the edge of the rock and teetering a little bit, so when one fell off Nayla wasn't surprised.

Unfortunately it was at this moment that Frot decided to poke his head out to put up the stamps. The heavy (for a Terror) parchment nailed him on the head and caused him to lose grip of the stamps. Frot teetered back and forth on his hind legs for a moment before falling off the shelf.

Frot fell to the ground, on top of his wings.

"Ow."

The stamps he had let go of returned to the earth with a thump, unfortunately hitting his head in the process.

"Ow!" More high-pitched this time.

He ended his adventure sprawled on the ground on top of his wings, stamps on the ground beside him.

Nayla giggled.

"Here, let me help you."

She reached over and picked up the parchment that had been the culprit. It crackled as her claw made contact.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Frot brushed himself off and said from the ground, "That'll be a silver round and about a brass tack, if I've memorized the chart correctly. I'd give it to you for nothing since you're my friend, but the boss doesn't like freeloaders."

"Sure thing. I'll go get it from my barrow. Be back in five minutes."

Nayla took off and flew around a few pillars for the fun of it before banking and heading for her parents barrow. She headed around the outside of the cave, as she didn't like to be over the Queen. The climb took some effort, so Nayla had to take a rest when she reached her doorstep.

It was a large home for a large family, round and cut deep into the mountain. It sat high and near the top of the mountain. Her father had made sure that his family had the second best view in the nest, for not being able to find a barrow by the opening he had made it up for her mother, Skyla, by making his home high above the Queen's lair and its fumes. It had been expensive, but hard work and diligence had made up for the money he'd lost.

The barrow was divided into three parts; Her parents room was the only private space in the barrow. It was averagely sized and had space for a study, which her father greatly enjoyed.

The drawing room was by far the largest space in the house. It had a mantle with a fireplace under it in the back. Her mother kept it clean as a whistle and did not allow her siblings to play there, though she trusted Nayla to some extent.

Unlike other drawing rooms, it had been chipped out of the rock evenly, so it was relatively boxish. It had plenty of clearance for taller dragons.

Nayla's room was shared with her eleven baby brothers and sisters. It had multiple ledges for growing dragons to sleep on, which were always messy despite her best efforts.

Her money was in the back of it on a smaller ledge, away from any trampling feet that might spread her things. She had ordered her siblings to stay away from it, but baby dragons don't listen to anyone. Nayla expected to have to drag at least one of her brothers away from the ledge. Again. That hadn't been fun.

Her father was in the study, reading a book she didn't recognize.

"Here for your nap?" he asked.

"Nope. I was actually out buying some parchment and needed to get my money."

"That's a good thing. We're a little low on that. I really should have been writing that letter to your uncle by now, but I've run out of ink. The bottle is down to it's last dregs I fear."

"Do you need me to get some?"

"That would be convenient. You can take one of the brass rings from my room to pay for it. They're too small to fit dragons at any rate, even if they do have some nice engravings on them."

"No problem." Nayla said, though inwardly she sighed. She had been hoping to get her shopping over with and take her evening rest.

She turned to go to her room, but stopped when her mother called to her.

"Is Nayla here?"

"She just got home on an errand." her father said, then added, "Do you want her to get anything while she's out?"

"An ornament for the mantle would be nice. The drawing room seems a bit bare to me every time I sweep it. I could use some decoration."

"Can that wait or do I have to do it now?"

"Maybe. But I'd like it before we have your nephews over, that's for sure."

Skyla always found a way to bypass her complaints.

She entered her room.

In the center of the room her siblings were having a large playfight. A couple were standing off to her side, but there was no one eyeing her stash this time. Skyla was in the corner keeping an eye on the children while she read.

Nayla had never learned to read, despite her parents best efforts.

Nayla's "hoard" was only a few coins large. It was rather pitiful, but she planned to save more when she had the time.

She picked out her dingiest silver coin and a shiny glass marble to pay for the parchment.

Nayla hopped over to the study, where she took one of the smaller brass rings for her father's wishes. She also took the (nearly empty), ink bottle.

"Can I visit my friends before I come back?" An excuse to laze around.

"You can, but you have to be careful." Skyla.

"I can take care of myself."

With that Nayla flew off.

The flight down was much easier, and she let herself glide easily down. Her nose wrinkled up when she passed above the Queen's lair, and she raised her wing to bank.

She landed at the Post in front of Frot.

"Hello again." said Frot.

"Hello to you."

She fumbled with her claw a bit before accidentally dropping one of the brass rings on the counter with her marble.

"Sorry."

"Not a problem."

Frot handed the ring back to Nayla, who gave him the silver coin back. She then grabbed the parchment and spiked it on her tail.

That was the thing about Nadders. They could easily hang on to things where normal dragons couldn't.

"My father wants a refill of ink so he can write his letter."

Nayla showed off the ink bottle on her tail, then looped it over her head and offered it to Frot, who dexterously removed it so as not to cut himself on the poisonous spines.

He took another bottle of ink and gave it to Nayla.

She gave him a brass ring and hopped off the ledge before he could make change. Nayla elected not to go trading just yet. Her mother's request could wait.

She was tired from waking up so early and took a short rest on the ground, before flying back home for a quick nap.

Or a not so quick nap.

"Dinner time!" Her mother was feeding the children, who were to young to fly.

Nayla groaned. It was time to steal a little rope.

 _But I'm so sleepy!_

 _We can sleep later. That is what night-time is for._

Right now the bold part of her was winning. Nayla decided not to waste that time.

In front of her Skyla was feeding the fledglings, as she did every evening. She was trying to get them into a regular feeding schedule so they wouldn't wake her up in the night so often.

"Fishing?"

"And having a little fun."

"Don't have too much fun." Skyla said, then, as Nayla pushed off, "Be safe!"

Nayla had no plans of being safe.

The supplies were closely guarded, as it took a normal dragon an hour to weave a foot of rope. Most of it was stolen stuff from the two-leggeds, not very high quality, but valuable none the less. It was used to weave baskets, make repairs, and snare incoming Viking ships.

All of it was conveniently located (for the Queen), near Grinch's cave, to repell any unwelcome visitors like Nayla.

Nayla flapped down and hid behind a rock, waiting for the Guard to pass.

She was about to make a move, but stopped in her tracks when she heard a voice.

"How much will we need? Make it quick boy." Grinch. He was in the middle of a conversation.

"The rock clearing mechanism will take our best carvers approximately one change of the moon. We'll need most of the rope we have for its construction."

"Then I'll need it moved, starting tonight after feeding time!" Grinch snapped.

 _Forget about the rope. Our lives first!_

 _Leaving would be impossible without being detected. Press on._

Nayla's heart was in her mouth. She stood stock still, adrenaline pumping through her veins and screaming to be let out. She waited for what seemed like an eternity.

A crunching noise came from around the boulder she was hiding behind. She tensed, every old fighting instinct in her coming to life. She fought to control her breathing, so as not to give herself away.

A voice cut through the air, and she stilled the involuntary urge to leap away. It was so close she could nearly touch it.

"Looks like we'll be haulin' junk around for the Queen next' few days. Here I thought I was going to get a break."

"No kidding. A giant pulley system to save work. Sounds too human if you ask me. Here I almost thought we were the superior kind."

Nayla's spines angled back down slightly. They were only construction Gronckles, not guards. She considered running away, but she would have to cross fifty feet of rocky ground in the open before getting out of sight, and even then she wouldn't be out of danger, so she stayed put. The chance of somebody asking questions was too large.

"Guards runnin' all over the place, and Grinch watching like a hawk. It'll be hard to keep our dirty little secret."

"We can always say we're gone for lunch break, but we're really gone for.. other things."

"Yeah. Grinch'll never know about _her_."

A plan began to form in Nayla's mind.

She stood up and faced the construction workers.

"Do you sneak off often boys?"

The two Gronckles were surprised, and nearly spit out their food. Surprise turned to fear, and fear turned to anger. Most citizens were deadly afraid of stepping out of line.

"None of your business." one of them said, in the toughest voice he could muster.

"Really. So that means that if I tell your headmaster that you're up to something, you won't have a problem with it?"

The workmen's demeanor changed instantly.

"N-no. We weren't doing anything. It was just a lunch break. Honest?" said one.

Nayla had them right where she wanted them. In their fear, they hadn't noticed she was just a fledgling.

"I'll make you a deal."

"What kind of a deal?" said the first.

"Oh, nothing," said Nayla in the most nonchalant voice she could manage. "Just a little rope, and maybe I won't tell."

"Rope is valuable. It would be too difficult."

Nayla made a conspicuous show of turning away.

"We'll do it!" said both at once.

"Sounds better." she said. "Meet me outside tomorrow on the big boulder, in the afternoon. I'll be waiting for you."

Nayla flew off right in front of the guards. If there was one thing she had learned from her encounter, it was confidence. Look confident, and most people tended to back off. Show fear, and the enemy quickly takes control.

One looked like he was getting ready to fly after her, but he thought better of it. Gronckles were good at keeping public order, but they weren't built for chasing down criminals.

 _That's what I am now, a criminal._

Nayla ignored that thought. She would cross that moral bridge when she came to it. She skirted around the border and flew out the opening to the nest to fish, but her heart wasn't in it.

The dragon nest was large enough to make an impact on the local fish population, so Nayla had to fly almost three miles out and out of the fog to start seeing a catch. The guards were there as well, though more to keep an eye out for viking ships than to keep in the fishing civilians who might break free of The Queen's control.

To The Queen nonviolent dragons were little more than minions for the fighters who would raid neighboring human islands to feed Her. She needed more than just cod to keep Herself healthy.

Nayla's keen eyes spotted a fish school just below the surface.

She dove and prepared to unleash her fire on the hapless fish. Unfortunately another Nadder had had the same idea and was also diving on the future food. Nayla noticed him before he noticed her. It was Carr, Stulte's elder brother.

Frustrated, she pulled up to avoid a midair collision.

Carr flashed her what he thought was a handsome smile, but while he was distracted he nearly crashed into the water, and barely avoided drowning. Needless to say, his antics scared off the fish.

Nayla rolled her eyes for the first time that day.

Carr was an arrogant dragon who was nothing like Stulte except in appearance. He had inherited his father's hoard by birthright when the fiery dragon had died in a viking nest hunt. Since then he had become arrogant and abusive to Stulte and his extended family. He was a know-it-all, a showoff and a flirt to every girl he met.

"Hey babe. You look extra shiny today."

Case in point.

Nayla just flew away without talking to him. The last thing she wanted was to make Carr think she was interested in him. He didn't take the hint.

"Hey, come back! Me and you would make a great team. We could eat like kings!" his cries faded swiftly as Nayla worked to put distance between him and her.

She ignored him and started looking for another school of fish. The setting sun reflected off the water and made it hard to see anything below the surface. Nayla made a point of squinting her eyes and kept looking.

Her sweeping gaze finally caught a dark shape under the water. Nayla banked and once again prepared her fire.

The fish didn't see her until it was too late. Her blast caused the water to boil up and throw itself up in the air like an eruption of lava.

Dead cod and mackerel floated up to the surface, a little cooked for her liking, but good eating nonetheless. She swooped down and grabbed a few with her claws, leaving the rest for any scavengers who had had a bad catch.

Carr skimmed above the surface and stole the rest. She hadn't meant for him to get any, but Carr would be Carr.

"These are nicely done, don't you think?"

Nayla just ignored him again and flew away faster.

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

Nayla came home after dusk to a sleeping barrow.

She walked in and fell asleep in the drawing room. In the back of her a little voice said that mom wouldn't be happy, but she paid no heed and swiftly fell asleep.

Her dream that night was of happy flight over green forests covering the land; exhaling pungent scent. The pounding of surf was gone, as was the call of the gulls. In their place strange new bird calls floated on the wind and into her ears. A glimmering mountain range unfolded over the edge of the horizon dreamscape. The cool air flowed over brush and stream like a soft whisper. It looked like paradise. It was paradise.

She flew tree to tree with powerful strokes of her wings. She felt so young and strong here, like all of her aches and pains were gone and replaced with power. She roared and whooped and wheeled, until her dream shifted and she fell into a deeper sleep, a sleep which truly rested her.

It felt like no time at all until her eyes lifted, and it was a new day. Nayla got up slowly, feeling refreshed and ready for anything, yet not wanting to forget her wonderful dream.

Strangely Skyla had let her rest, gracious enough not to disturb her, though she had inadvertently slept in the drawing room. The fledglings were not yet awake, and Nayla had the morning hours all to herself.

Nayla looked around and decided on an impulse that she would go check on Ocean to see how she was doing. After that she would take a quick flight, to calm her nerves and get away from the nest, where she had lately been feeling a bit boxed in.

She mouthed a quick goodbye to her sleeping family and took off

Ocean was resting, as usual, and Nayla decided to let her sleep.

The sky looked bright today, and she let herself bask in the breeze for a while. Then she opened her wings and propelled herself into the sky with one wide stroke, gliding under the rising sun.

 **A/N**

 **Ooh,** **blackmail** **.** **What will happen next?**

 **1** **.** **A** **long** **roll of** **dragon** **parchment is roughly equal to ten sheets of paper here,** **thus Frot's surprise.** **They have easy rip-off tabs like toilet paper** **to make it easier for the** **writer to make short letters.**

 **T** **he rope is important, for a reason you'll see in** **a future** **chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4, Disaster

**A/N. I've found that I really should plan my plots in advance!** **I have a general idea, but nothing rounded enough.**

 **I am trying to show, not tell, and the last chapter was an experiment there. I had no idea you could squeeze 4k words out of one day,** **much less one befo** **re the finale** **or even the union of both stories** **!** **What do you think will happen then? Battle it out** **o** **n the reviews page.**

 **Riddle.**

 **What's brown and sticky?**

 **W** **ritten while listening to castle in the sky. You should really listen to this if you're reading or** **w** **riting flying sequences** **or anything cinematic** **.**

Nayla glided down to a barrow and alighted on it easily. A blue-white dragon was sleeping inside.

"Ocean, are you awake?" She would be asleep. Mostly.

A low moan sounded and Ocean turned her head.

"I've got news!"

"What's that? Is it about our escape?" Asked very sleepily.

"Yes. I managed to.."

"Don't bother. This was a stupid idea, from a dumb kid trying to show off." Clearly her friend hadn't rested as well as she had.

"If only it were that easy to just give up now. I've made deals in the wrong places just to get what we needed. I've been a good friend. I too have been feeling boxed in."

"I suppose I wouldn't mind if you decided to run away from your problems."

Nayla chuckled, a laugh which irritated Ocean.

"You ma'am, are running away from your problems by sleeping in." said Nayla in a joking tone, then added more seriously,

"I have a (mostly) intact family here. Why would I run away? You have almost every reason to go."

Ocean groaned again, though this time it was consciously done.

"Don't remind me. What did you do anyway, to say you've made deals in the wrong places? Something dumb? Something Nayla?"

"I kinda sorta blackmailed a few workers into giving me a little rope after the afternoon break today."

Ocean did the dragon equivalent of slapping herself in the face.

"We could of bought that stuff. It's only a matter of time before they spill their guts and we'll be toast. Tell me. Did you 'borrow' some parchment too?"

"I bought that. The rope was being used for a big project, and I'm pretty sure that all the rope-makers will be employed. Even the two-legged's bad imitation won't be available for any but the highest price." said Nayla.

"Might as well pay you back for it." said Ocean, "I'm nothing if not an honorable dragon."

"Not a problem. I want you to have them. The parchment rolls, I mean."

"What would I use it for?"

"Sending letters home silly!"

"I've already told you that this was a dumb idea."

Nayla took a page out of her mother's book and ignored her, chalking it up to morning sickness..

"Do you wanna go flying? It's good exercise, and you'll be able to stretch out." Nayla reverted to her usual self, if only for a second.

"Seeing as I won't get any more sleep, sure. I'm hungry."

Ocean yawned and stood up, thankful that Nayla had changed the subject.

"We can talk about things later. Right now we need to keep your eyes open and your mouth closed."

Nayla couldn't stifle her yawn anymore and opened wide.

"I swear, yawning is contagious."

"No kidding. I think I might have caught it from Stulte."

"Speak of the devil. I met Carr yesterday," said Nayla, "He was being a showoff and nearly crashed into the water trying to impress me."

"I take it that that didn't work." More statement than question.

"Nope."

Ocean stretched her wings and yawned again.

"We'd better get going before this turns into Yawnfest 335." Nayla.

The two took off, Nayla in front and Ocean lagging slightly behind. By now the early risers of the nest were quietly going about their business and Nayla watched as the first turnout started to hum.

Ocean made for the nest exit, but Nayla pulled her away.

"The secret way out. You need to memorize it before you can attempt anything by yourself."

"Are you still trying to suck me into your nefarious plan? Will I get lost and left to die."

"I got lost in that cave once, had a terrible time getting out of there. Wouldn't want anyone to go through that."

Nayla's short response shut Ocean up, and she was content to remain silent as they half glided, half flew toward a crack in the rock that looked just like any other.

As they neared it Nayla pulled her another way, and from this angle she could dimly see that a small opening was there, barely detectable by even a trained eye looking the wrong way.

"Wow. How did you find this place. That little seam doesn't look at all what it did a second ago."

By this time the wall was in their faces and they had to start circling, unable to hover in one place.

"Blind luck, I guess."

"It takes more than that, in my opinion at least."

Nayla ignored the compliment and flew up for a gliding run. Getting into the secret passage was difficult, as it required Ocean to fold her wings up just before she hit the rock, so that she could fit through.

Unsurprisingly Nayla was the first in, dropping twenty feet before gripping the edge and pulling herself in.

"Come on. You can do it." she cheered.

Ocean folded her wings and dove one last time and barely managed to squeeze in, several of her head spines snapping off and being discarded.

It was quite dark in there, at least until Nayla spat out some fire onto the floor, illuminating the cave well enough for Ocean to see.

The sekrit way was much bigger inside then outside, at least twice Nayla's hight, and wide enough for two Nightmares to walk abreast.

It had a musty smell, like old books and rotting wood. Plenty of stones decorated the floor. Ocean somehow managed to stub her toe on three of them before she was even in the proper cave itself.

Multiple paths opened out from the space, which was not quite big enough to be called a cavern.

One went up, the others went down.

Nayla chose the path that sloped up without hesitation, Ocean also stumbling along behind. The fire's light decreased quickly after its initial flair, and the pair were enveloped in the darkness. Ocean had a little trouble seeing, but Nayla had no such problems.

She must be used to this sort of thing, Ocean thought, and she was right. Nayla seemed to be unfazed by the dark, being able to move through it like it was her element.

Ocean was as clumsy as Nayla was graceful in the darkness. She tripped over a stone and landed flat on her face. She quickly got up and tried to brush it off and look dignified, the only problem being that it is no use to look dignified when there is no way to see you at all, so that instead of feeling important, she felt rather foolish.

They passed several forks, but Nayla always chose the left, so that soon Ocean had completely forgotten their orientation. All sense of time had long since passed away, leaving her with a peculiar empty feeling. They could of been higher than the stars by then and she wouldn't have noticed.

Left, right. Left, right. Look down for rocks, follow Nayla, take care of your tail, plod on. Feel the dryness in your throat as you breath hoarsely from the exertion, feel hungry, drift off until you feel like you've hit a wall, rub your nose, rest, rinse and repeat

This went on for what seemed like forever for Ocean. Even Nayla was starting to flag a bit, for she called a rest break for a few minutes. Or was it hours? Ocean couldn't know.

Faintly she could hear the laughter of an untamed stream, and it became noticeably lighter in the cave, so that the walls became grey and not black. Ocean no longer struggled to see Nayla's tail and legs anymore, it seemed like a fog had been lifted from her eyes that she had not even seen before and was gone.

The air had become fresher and more rejuvenating, it held the scent of water and Ocean began to look around for any sign of the stream.

"Are we there yet?"

"No. But we're close." Nayla.

As she turned yet another bend, the light became much stronger. After so much time in the dark it was blindingly bright, a hole in the darkness filled with the power of many suns. At least that's what it felt like to her.

Ocean involuntarily closed her eyes and waited it out. Eventually she opened them a little. It still hurt, but not as much, and soon she was standing out in the grass on top of the largest mountain in the archipelago.

It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. The waxing sun filtered through pine needles and dappled her scales. A babbling brook ran across the middle of a meadow filled with purple wildflowers. The greenery grew up to a particular line on the ground where none dared cross. An oak tree stood next to the stream, dropping beautiful orange and marigold leaves into the water.

Ocean looked up and saw that an overhang was covering most of the cove from the air at any but the most extreme angles. The Queen must have missed this place when she was flaming the island because the ledge had protected the plants.

She looked down and saw that all the ground sloped up in a circle from the cave entrance to the wall of rock, surrounding it and protecting it from the icy blasts of winter as well as dragon fire.

What she was most surprised by was the time of day. Instead of being evening or even afternoon, it was only late morning. Ocean thought that either she had miscalculated her time in the cave (she had), or she had woken up earlier than she thought she did (she hadn't).

"How is it only midmorning?"

"Welcome to cave travel," said Nayla with a smile. "Consider this your initiation test, which you passed with flying colors. I was a lot more scared when I first came here."

"I had you. You had nobody."

"I suppose you're right. But," Nayla said, looking up at the sun, "I have a little business at the beach. Remember. I'm doing this for you."

With that she flew off, leaving Ocean to consider her words.

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

Nayla was in a bit of a pinch. The traitors were supposed to be here any second now, and she couldn't help but start to worry. She had to fight to stop herself from descending into a never ending merry round of what ifs.

 _What if they told the guard of your deeds._

 _What if they shortchange you and you fall for it._

 _What if.._

On and on and on. She was not surprised at the amount of bad results her mind could come up with, after all she had been in high pressure situations before, so this was not new. Still, it was slightly unnerving whenever it happened. This was one of those times.

The sound of buzzing interrupted her thoughts, making a reprieve against her own head possible. Still, the arrival of the workers in person brought its own problems.

Two Gronckles landed, one of them carrying a frayed coil of viking make. It still looked like it would hold in a storm however.

"We got the goodies, now leave us alone." one of them seemed to be smiling, though Nayla didn't know why. She hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

Nayla made for the coil with a flick of her tail, and cargo secured, began to climb. She hoped that was the last she would see of the troublemakers. She did not trust them.

Her father was in the study again, reading his new book. He greeted her.

"Good afternoon Nayla. I see you have bought some of the rope on sale."

Busted. Might as well go with a half-truth.

"Yes."

"The Queen has a new pulley project going."

Nayla nodded.

"I knew that already."

"Good. I have been looking up economics over the last few days." he said, holding up his book. "And according to the basic laws of economic interests, the moment one is forced to pay heavy taxes on what something owns, one tries to sell it."

"In plain Drohirrim please."

"What I'm saying is that as soon as the Queen ordered all line to be given over to her for free, the merchants sold their wares at extremely decreased prices so all their hard work wouldn't be for nothing."

"And?"

"The current price is down to pennies worth for every ten feet of decent quality."

Nayla had to avoid doing a double take. She had just done the most stupid thing possible. Instead of waiting for another chance she had acted on impulse to get what she wanted. Now she had not one but two people who might charge her with crimes against The Queen, and they had probably gotten what they needed on the cheap. A nice double play.

Nayla cursed herself. Way to go. Could her day get any worse?

She wanted to get away from it all, so she flew to a place just outside Ocean's barrow to think about what she might tell her friend. Just as she was ready to say the worst, Stulte emerged with Ocean in tow.

More bad news?

"Nayla!" Stulte. At least he sounded cheery. "We have some good news for you."

"What is it."

"My family agreed that me and Ocean could be betrothed, but only after a long bit of bugging on my part."

"We're officially together!" added Ocean.

Nayla was stunned. She'd known their relationship was deep, but not as deep as that. Still, she had known that Stulte had been Ocean's best buddy for years now, and something like this was inevitable. Just not so soon.

"We've also agreed that we'll stay on the island. No more of this silly running away stuff."

Nayla just sat, wallowing in her own silence. Unfortunately things had just gotten worse. Fortunately her preparations would bid well in the end. The end was not now.

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

Nayla sat watching Ocean and Stulte enjoying a moment watching the sun set over the island from the big boulder. She had always wished that someday she would enjoy a moment just like this, just that if they got all mushy she would leave..

Sometimes the mist would part to reveal particularly nice weather. This was one of those times.

"The water looks golden tonight. I wish it could stay this way all year." said Stulte.

"That's just not the way the world works. Everything has a place. Some things must die that others may live. Summer is one of those things."

"We must be glad that it comes alive again then, or we would be stuck in eternal winter like that of the Bewilderbeast's."

"That's just a story, and a made up one at that."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Nayla turned to leave. She couldn't stand much more of that before her bubble popped.

She stopped when she heard the whoosh of many dragons landing all at once.

"You are under arrest for High Treason to Her Majesty!"

Her day had gotten infinitely worse.

 **A/N**

 **I've written myself into a box. Some plot ideas would be helpful, to say the least.** **First fanfic, what can you say. Just constructive criticism alright. No hate please. Berk seems to have unseasonably nice weather right now. Let's fix that. ; )**


	5. Chapter 5, No guts no glory

**A/N Congratulations to susanne skjoldvardson for the answer to my riddle. It's a stick.**

 **I swear that if this name fails to display one more time I'll just about lose it. Stupid site.**

 **Enjoy your victory cookie.**

 **(::)**

 **T** **his chapter will be more quantity over quality this time. Quantity has a quality of its own.**

 **I wrote this while** **listening** **to** _ **Highway to the Danger Zone**_ **by Kenny Loggins** **and also** _ **American Idiot**_ **by Greenday. (Swearing.** **Heavily.** **)**

 **Tell me if you like these songs so I can see if my viewers are actually paying attention to me and my pitiful authors notes..**

 **It's the weekday boreweek so expect less until Friday.**

 **Quote of the day.**

" _ **Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory."**_

– **?**

Ocean looked bleakly out of the guarded cell. She was locked in and waiting for the interrogator that was sure to come.

Her cell was wet and sticky. She had been mostly left alone from the moment she was dumped in. Other than the person who gave the food, a ragged slimy excuse that passed for fish, she'd had no dragon contact. And it was driving her crazy.

There was only one person who could have been responsible for all of this mess. Nayla had screwed up. Damn her!

She was the one responsible for the whole business, and she knew it. Ocean should never have trusted the budding criminal to do anything right.

The two construction workers had tattled on her and this was the result. If only Nayla could be mature and not do dumb things. Add that to the fact that she was nowhere to be found, and you got yourself a very angry dragon.

The first thing she would do when she got out was hunt her down herself. No mercy would be given her former friend. It was a passing rage but she still indulged in it nonetheless.

The guards had made it clear to her that she was suspected of helping someone steal something. A very specific someone. She would be questioned about it, and maybe convince them she wasn't guilty, but the nest always had more dragons if she was executed.

In The Queen's lair, one mistake could get you killed. Literally. And it was all her fault!

Ocean stopped in the middle of her mental rant and roared at the ceiling with a vengeance.

She did things on her whim, and if She decided that Ocean was to be eaten, that was it. But also mixed in with her anger was the pang of guilt in her stomach, a pulling at her gut that just didn't seem to go away.

She was the one who'd talked her friend into this, and she was partially responsible for her present circumstances. Ocean couldn't tell that to anyone though, for they'd report her involvement to Grinch, who was not happy that someone had managed to slip through their guards. In fact, that slippery someone was out there now.

As for Stulte, she had no idea where he was. He would be shocked and would never look at her again, or so she thought.

And now for punishment she might be subjected to the same fate that had befell her mother all those years ago. 

Stulte was actually worried sick. He couldn't believe that his betrothed could actually have done what the guards accused. He had tried to talk to her multiple times to get the truth. Each time the guards had pushed him away. Now he was frustrated and running out of choices.

So he turned to another option, Nayla. Surely she must know what had happened, she was Ocean's best friend after all.

Tracking her down was harder than he'd thought, for Nayla had disappeared overnight in the nest community. The last time she had been seen was around one of her favorite cliff haunts on the back side of the island.

His family had shook their heads over the entire affair and told Stulte to keep away from Ocean if he valued his life. How could he, when Ocean was the love of his life. Now it seemed the entire nest was against them.

Tales of young love swept through the ranks like wildfire, and Stulte was pretty sure that they were about him. Gossip and scuttlebutt was never to be trusted, and this was no exception. The newest rumors were that he had run away on a giant machine with Ocean and that they had eloped to the nearest island, where Ocean had been captured and that Stulte was back to gain his revenge.

Carr was being an ass about it, of course, but since when was he not being an ass? He would take down his boastful elder in a duel someday, just not yet.

Stulte had smelled Nayla's faint scent a while ago and was now flying toward it in hopes of finding a lead.

Stulte sniffed again. A very peculiar scent was drifting down to his nostrils. Ocean's scent was now intermingled with Nayla's, though it smelled rather sweaty, like she had gone through some sort of hard exercise. There was also a dry musty smell mixed in with theirs, like that in an old pirates cave. They had obviously been traveling, but where?

He flew upwind, the current taking him to a place he had never seen before. A small valley was carved into the Queen's mountain where the afternoon wind rushed down and formed crevices. The wind was gusty and unstable here, so it was hard for him to close the distance.

After some time of being buffeted by the winds Stulte had drawn close enough to make out a stream crossing the inside of the valley.

The smell of plants grew strong in his mind. Obviously some plant life was regrowing on the mountain. He dearly hoped that no one would take a pass at the vegetation. He was rather fond of flowers himself.

Nayla's scent also grew much stronger, and it smelled like she was close. Unfortunately the passing breezes and gusts were too unreliable to tell him exactly where she was.

A passing breeze told him that he was nearing Nayla's hiding place, but he just couldn't find it. Then he spotted a glint of green coming from upstream under what he'd previously thought was just another rock field.

He turned to get close, but a downdraft bumped his right wing enough to make him lose his balance. Stulte was losing his patience, and flapped his left wing hard to compensate. That was not the best thing to do.

At the same time his right wing came up and he overbalanced hard.

Stulte smashed into the cove, missing the lip of the overhang by a hairs breadth. He heard the snap of a stick above him and Nayla's face hovered over his own.

"Is Ocean alright?" her voice sounded strained.

"She's fine. They let me go."

"We have to help her."

"We can't. She's supposed to be a criminal accomplice."

Nayla hung her head, to Stulte's great surprise.

"I did this." she murmured so quietly that Stulte didn't hear.

"What'd you say?"

"I did this." she said. "It's all my fault that this is happening."

"What are you talking about? It can't be your fault, don't be so glum."

"I thought we could have an adventure Stulte. Have a little fun for a while. Be free from The Tyrant." she said through sobs. "Don't you see. I did something stupid without thinking. I stole the rope and now I'm a fugitive!"

"Well that certainly changes things."

"Now I'll really have to run away. And it won't be an adventure either. I don't want to leave Ocean behind, even though she probably hates me."

Stulte nodded. He had heard the piercing shriek earlier that day, and she didn't sound happy to say the least.  
"The least we can do is help her out of this mess."

Stulte saw a grin make it's way onto Nayla's face.

"Just don't do anything stupid!"

Too late.

A figure skulked around the shadows in the fading light of the sun. It took a look a fleeting look around, hunting for something.

Presently it found a barrel of fish, which it slipped a small packet into. It did the same for all the other barrels.

The dinner call rang throughout the island; the dragon shifted and was gone like it was never there. No-one saw it, but one other.

Soon after dinner all of the guards drifted off, one after another. The dark shape showed itself once more, this time with an accomplice.

Ocean heard the pitter-patter of footsteps ringing across her prison. She prepared herself for the worst, but was surprised when Nayla showed up. Or maybe that was an understatement.

"You." Nayla didn't like her tone.

"I've messed up royally," that was an understatement, "but I've come to make things right."

She pulled out a key and began to unlock the door.

Ocean had a million things to say to her friend, none of them good. After all she had abandoned her and gotten her into trouble in the first place.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't yell at the one person who had come back. Where Stulte was she didn't know.

By coming back, Nayla had proved she was a true friend.

"Thank you." was all she could manage.

"You're welcome. Goodness knows I've caused you enough trouble."

Ocean and Nayla exchanged greetings while her friend's shadowy partner looked on. Finally Ocean got down to brass tacks.

"If anyone knows I've gone they'll come looking for me."

"No one will know for a while. There's going to be a raid tonight and everyone will be celebrating over yet another blow to the viking scum. Besides, we drugged the guards."

"Oh. But Stulte might be in danger." she added.

"I'll come with you." The last voice she had expected. The shadowy partner was no other than her betrothed.

"Stulte! I thought you'd never come back." she yelled.

"Hush, not so loud. I'm glad to see you too, but we can save it until we're not in danger of some knight -errant wandering over and blowing our cover."

Ocean was crying tears of joy, though she was hiding it well.

"We're your best friends. Don't you forget that." added Nayla.

"Where will we go?"

"Somewhere off the island. Preferably far, far away until this whole thing blows over. The mainland or something. Not in the archipelago I hope."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. They don't call me Nayla the slippery for nothing."

Ocean started running around the inside of the small prison to stretch her legs. You never knew what freedom truly meant until it was taken away from you, she thought.

Oddly enough it was empty of any but her and her friends. It seemed like She was not a fan of anything short of corporal punishment or torture, for several chains were in the corner, hung above thousands of little needles.

"The supplies which have given us so much trouble are on Stulte. He'll know the way."

"I can't hate you enough one moment, and I can't thank you enough the next. What a weird world."

"We have no time for dawdling. You can thank me if you get back."

" _When_ we get back."

Nayla led the two out of the prison and onto the rock above. The red miasma drew into her lungs and started to close in on her breathing. Ocean could of sworn she was being choked by an unseen hand.

"You'll need to take the sekrit way out. Someone would surely see you if you went out the front gate. It's too late for that and it would look suspicious."

"What if we just said we're waiting for the guys coming home from the raid? Then we could fly straight out the gate and never look back."

"And a Gronckle is stealthy," Nayla shot back. "The most well known prisoner on dragon island waltzes out the front door and nobody notices. I care too much about your safety to let you do that."

"Hold it in guys. Nayla's right. We shouldn't try anything that risky." said Stulte. "Where is the sekrit way is what I'd like to know.

"Up by the east wall. It'll lead you to the cove we were in earlier."

"It's very…. Interestingly scented if you ask me." Ocean said.

"Nuff bickering. We need to move before these guards wake up and wander what's happened." Stulte. She wasn't betrothed to him for nothing. He had an honed mind (most of the time), and a voice that could break up conflict.

They looked around to see if there was anyone around to see them go. There wasn't.

Nayla took off first, with Ocean following. Stulte hesitated for a second, then chased after them.

The crack in the wall looked just like any other, and it took even Nayla a second before she found it.

Ocean dived in. Another look around the place revealed it had not changed at all, save for a few more chars on the floor where Nayla had likely lit more fire.

Stulte couldn't easily fit through the hole behind her, so she turned around and gave him a hand, er, claw.

Once in Stulte took a quick sniff, and that was all he needed to know.

"It's nice to know that the air down here is this refreshing." Sarcasm.

"Oh do come on. I can practically smell your sarcasm" said Ocean.

"Sometimes during a storm the air down here will clear up a bit." said Nayla as she led them to the right entrance.

"Or not. It depends."

"When do you think that my unscheduled absence will be noticed." said Ocean when they had got to the first bend.

"In about half an hour or so, maybe less."

"Will we be out of reach by then."

"There's no way to tell for sure."

"All we can do is hope." said Stulte.

They climbed on in silence for a while, their footfalls echoing uncannily from the rock and back to their ears.

Once again it was completely dark, and even Nayla strained her eyes to make sure that they were not going off the beaten path. Dim markings adorned each stretch of the cave on the right claw side. They were location markers of some sort, guessed Ocean, who had not noticed them the first time around.

"It sounds like there's more to this cave than the eye." said Stulte, still unacquainted with cave travel.

"It sounds like there's more to this cave than the eye." mocked the echoes, which were making themselves busy by repeating each other until eventually they died out for good.

"There are quite a few forks on the path." said Nayla softly, to avoid making an echo. "If you get lost, always turn left."

They kept on climbing for what seemed forever, but Nayla did not stop. They reached a few forks in the road, but Nayla unerringly chose left.

"We have to be quick." She had said.

Stulte bumped his toe on a rock. He walked into a wall. He got thirsty, hungry, and tired. How long had they been down here for? Where were they even? His feet dragged more with every step, and so did Ocean's. Aching pains shot through his leg whenever he stepped on a pebble.

He began dreaming about the end of his journey. What he would do when it was all over. What was at the top. He failed to watch his step and banged his nose on the wall, hard, for the second time that evening. He could barely smell with it anymore.

Nadders were not built for prolonged ground travel, and his feet were letting him know it. The air grew fresher as they went on, indicating that at least they weren't going nowhere, though that wasn't much comfort, as he didn't know where 'there', was.

Some of the bookish scent still remained though, clinging to his scales like mud on bird's wings.

He felt like he was about to fall down with every step he took. Thankfully Ocean supported him on her spiny shoulder and kept him afloat for a few more minutes until finally they took a break and all flopped down onto the blasted rock for a while.

Even though he been walking for hours he couldn't resist the urge to move his legs.

"Are we there yet?" he just had to ask the age old question.

"No."

"Are we even close." he asked as he lifted his wings, rubbing Nayla the wrong way.

"We're about two thirds of the way." said Nayla. "We've still got a good bit to go." she grinned, though no one could see it in the black miserableness that was their world.

He groaned audibly and kept on stretching.

After a few minutes they resumed their climb. This time Stulte took much less time picking through the stones. It was as if he could feel that he was nearing the end of this thrice-blasted cave. His tired bones tinged with a feeling with excitement and he felt jittery.

He could dimly hear the bubbling and gurgling of a stream, though the echoes made it hard to tell if I came from their destination or from inside the cave.

They turned a corner and he could see more light than before. The walls of the cave turned from black to dark grey, and some color returned to the cave walls, both from a bit of moss on the left wall and from the cones in his eyes finally taking in enough light to distinguish tones.

The very air was lighter, so light that he was panting easily, even though they had slowed their pace. It was a moonless night, yet still he had spent so much time in the cave that he could now see everything like broad daylight.

Suddenly he smacked into Ocean, who had stopped right in front of him. In his daze he had not noticed that they were in the cove he had met Nayla in, looking over the northern sky, which was overcast. Typical.

The sound of cheering and the beat of wings could be heard from the right, even though they were in a small valley.

"That's the raid dragons going out." said Nayla. "You should get going before they come back."

"You'll be coming with us, right?" said Ocean.

"No thank you. I can handle myself. You'll have Stulte along with you though."

It was at that moment that Stulte felt a bit sick to the stomach. The thought of leaving his uncles and aunts behind troubled him. He had lived with them almost all his life after his parents were killed.

The only consolation to leaving his family was that he was leaving Carr behind. He had Ocean now, and they could start a new family soon. They were old enough.

But this was all part of the plan. Besides, it was too late to back down now. He was going to be a hunted dragon soon, so the faster they left, the better.

Ocean looked sad too. Her best friend was going to stay behind.

"Can you please come with us." she said, using her best cute look.

Nayla was torn between staying behind, and going with them. Eventually she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'd just hinder you in your journey. It is fall, and if you don't make it to the mainland before winter falls you'll be in serious trouble. I can't handle romance at any rate, which I know you two would be doing plenty of."

"You won't come?"

"I don't think so Ocean." she said, voice full of emotion. She appeared to lighten up however, and added, Besides, who'd keep the guards occupied if I left?"

After many thank you's and goodbyes, and yet more sorrowful hugs, Ocean said it was time to go. She slowly, carefully, she lifted off, as if trying to capture Nayla's face in her mind for all eternity. Stulte followed, quickly taking the lead.

Nayla watched the little black dots that were her only friends disappear into the grey sky. She kept watching even after that, as if wanting to make a move but not able to, frozen like a statue forever.

Finally she ducked back into the cave to avoid any seeing eyes.

She wondered if she had made the wrong choice by not going with them. Not for the last time.

Ocean pounded on with her wings, finally free.

They had headed east until dawn, and were now looking for a place to land. She wondered if she had made the right choice by letting Nayla stay behind. Not for the last time.

"Land ho." shouted Stulte.

They both lifted their wings and dropped altitude. The islet Stulte had found was small, but it had a few gulls who had started massing to go south.

She caught a few and ate them raw.

"I've found a little cave in the rocks by the sea," said Stulte. "It's not a proper barrow, but it'll do."

Ocean nodded. She was very tired from flying all night. They would find more food later, but now only sleep mattered. They huddled into the crack and slept soundly, with Ocean leaning her head on Stulte's breast.

 **A/N The end of the chapter. Dun Dun Dun. How'd you like it? Please tell me. Next chapter will be about Gobber and Stoick. Stubbornness issues. Go check out A Thing Of Vikings. It's awesome.**

 **This has been B. Avar and I'm happy for you all.**


	6. Chapter 6, Coming Home

**A/N Some reviews would be nice. Pretty please?**

 **Moving on, let's get to today's riddle.**

" **Tear one off and scratch my head, and what was red becomes black instead."**

 **Winner gets a victory cookie.**

 **I'm also taking a Friday break. There's going to be a big event, so community first.**

 **Have you guys read _Tarkin's Fist_ yet. If not, you're in for a treat. Just a little on the heavy side for gore.**

 **Word 2133 is important to the story. Just saying.**

 **Toothless may or may not be in this story. Haven't figured out how to integrate him.**

 **This was written listening to _Through the fire and flames_. It's classic nineties music, so nineies haters be warned. It's worth the time for it though. Also _Black Betty_ by Ram Jam.**

 **ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignsHisCommentsWithA. Close, but no** **beans** **.** **:(**

 **Thank you anyway for your support.**

 **Updated 2.** **9.** **2019**

* * *

Gobber leaned on the side of the boat, washed by a salty breeze and moistened by the ocean spray. Strange, he thought, how the water could change so quickly. Only last night the seas had been twenty yards high, enough to throw a small boat like this around like a top. Now the air was calm and the surface seemed almost like glass, rippling in the wake of the knarr*. Here and there smaller ripples formed, driven by the breeze, but they too faded away.

Fifty yards to port a boulder emerged from the mist as a dark mass, then disappeared just as suddenly.

"Right tiller. Steady as she goes," called the helmsman.

The deck tilted under his feet as Gobber watched the rocks, looking for a clue, any clue that they were alive.

Footsteps came from amidships; a man walking up behind him. He knew who it was, but didn't turn, only watched the ocean outboard as if his gaze could somehow strip away the mist.

Screech joined him at the railing.

They were lucky to be alive, and they knew it. If that fisherman hadn't saved them they would've died, and then it wouldn't have been just Hiccup and Astrid that would've been missing, it would've been the whole crew.

At home people would wonder where Gobber was, and Screech, and Phlegma, and all the others on this ship. Killed by a dragon, perhaps, or drowned in a storm. But they _had_ been saved, and now it was only those kids that were gone. Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

"Our lookouts say they heard a dragon's cry off the starboard bow," said Screech, not bothering with the sir. It didn't feel right to use it any more. "We don't have many weapons among the men. Most had to ditch them to get to safety."

"Keep quiet and make sure they keep their eyes peeled. We don' want ta' attract it's attention now, not with the state we're in."

Screech nodded, asked hesitantly, "Is there any chance we'll call off the search today? Some of us are getting restless for home, the captain especially so."

"I know what goes on in my crew," said Gobber. "One more day, and then tell him to set course for Berk. We're closer to there than the Isle of the Meatheads, at any rate. Did he say how much he'll charge?"

"No, but he doesn't strike me as the sort of man to miss out on a deal, even if it's one-sided. Besides, once we get to Berk there won't be enough time to sail back to his tribe. He'll have to overwinter with us, and that has a great cost."

"Judging from tha fact that he has a son, he probly' won't be all that happy ta' be away from family for tha' long, let alone an entire winter. Stoick's going ta' be paying a heavy boon for our rescue, I'll bet, and he won't be all that happy about it."

"Hell, his wife's gonna be furious when he gets home," said Screech. "Where've you been all winter, you big oaf!"

Gobber chuckled. "I didn't judge him for a married man, but tha's an insult."

"Didn't you see his boy? If you gave him more meat on his bones and made him an inch taller they'd look alike as two peas in a pod."

"Naw. I think his nose is too straight for tha', and besides, he's got a better set o' teeth."

They laughed and talked for a while, until Screech had to go belowdecks and Gobber had to clean all the rust off his metal limbs. Saltwater isn't kind to iron as a general rule, and his engineered hand was no exception. His pegleg had hit something in the storm and cracked, and there wasn't wood to make another one until they got home.

Their ship had been stranded on the shoals, impaled by a boulder that was barely keeping the water out. All hope of getting off the rocks intact was literally blown away when a bad gust had taken off the mainmast. After that they had just tried to hold on and not be thrown overboard to be dashed on the rocks or die of frostbite. Even their gig had been taken by a crashing wave that nearly swept him overboard.

About an hour later they stopped trying to even patch the hole in the hull. It was just too full of water. They all crowded out of the hold and waited for their inevitable doom to come. Every one of them holding their weapons, one by one they said their prayers and waited for the end, murmuring prayers to the gods for a miracle.

They had watched helplessly as the deck had begun to sink below the waterline. Suddenly there was a cry. They were saved.

The hull of a small longship nosed through the storm, one man at the helm and another at the bows. He saw them and waved. They waved back.

Waves pushed and pulled at the ship, and nearly succeeded in tipping it over and dumping the men off. Gobber's heart was in his mouth, and he had been sure that every one else's had been too. They watched as a sea rolled over the boat, and it looked like it had foundered, but it rode the crest of the next sea, and the next, steadily getting closer.

In this kind of weather avoiding rocks was simply a matter of luck when you were in the very shoal itself, a game against chance that even the most inveterate gambler would be hard-pressed to even play, let alone win.

A trough in one of the whitecaps revealed a sharp and nasty looking boulder. Suddenly the boat had come over the crest of the wave and they watched in horror as it was bodily sucked into the dip. It seemed destined to smash itself into matchwood. Just as the hull was about to break on it, a sea had scooped the ship up and lifted it bodily over the shoal. It landed with a slap. They would be lucky if nothing had been broken. But strangely it was held back by some unseen force. The net! It had caught on the rock and was holding the ship back. Now it was threatening to turn the ship into wooden noodles with an added helping of Viking sauce.

The ship was steadily being pulled back into the Maelstrom. One of the men started to mess with something. He looked like he was struggling with the ropes that held the net. A knife flashed dully in the torrent, chewing through one of them. He moved to the other end of the net, quickly now, as the ship was beginning to thrash about. The knife flashed again as a wave crashed over it's bows. The brave viking barely managed to hold on, and now the ship was turning broadside to the wind from the pull of the net. Finally he cut free the ship , and one of the larger fishing nets fell clear of his ship.

It was obvious that he was trying to avoid getting entangled again, as he quickly made double secure all the equipment while the other steered the boat at the marooned Berkians once more.

To Gobber it seemed that it was pointed straight at him, bobbing up and down like a large piece of cork.

Now they pulled aside the stricken longship _._ A line was thrown across the gap between the two, and Phlegma tried to make it fast. But long hours in the storm had made her fingers no better than sausages. The line slipped away and was pulled back.

It was thrown again. The man at the tiller let go for one second, and was knocked back from it. The ship opened the distance all on it's own, making the second throw fall far short.

The helmsman had picked himself back up now and once again the ship came closer to them. It looked like it was sliding down a wave onto them, only to be stopped by a trough.

The tiller held steady now, and the third throw was successful. One of the crewmen grabbed it and fastened it to the door of the hold, as they had nothing else to attach it to. The job took him far more time then if his fingers had not been numb. They all lined up, holding the rope fast while their sailor made the knot.

On the other ship the sailor also looked like he was securing his end as well. Once he was done he gave three tugs on the rope.

They hauled him in closer. Now the ships were so close that there was a real fear of them smashing into each other, or worse, the rescuer getting stuck on the shoal.

A sea smashed into the back side of their ship, and suddenly, that looked like a real possibility.

But the crew held on to whatever they could find, and soon the gangplank on the rescuing ship was down. It took a few more minutes for a lull in the storm to come, and they all chanced it. None fell off on the perilous tightwalk.

The rope was cut and the helmsman, pulled away. The younger man happened to be the old man's son, and he helped them into the hold, away from the prying sleet.

Not a minute afterward a freak wave overturned their tiny longship and threw it into the sky. It came back down with a crash on the partially submerged shoal, and planks, nails and everything else that made up a ship was spewed into the sea, carried away by the tsunami.

They were all fortunate to be alive.

All except Astrid and Hiccup. Their chances were slim, and they might as well be dead. Gobber's best apprentice was gone, swallowed by the waves. Gobber scanned the waves for any trace of their bodies, and murmured a prayer to Thor, god of thunder.

 _Stop being so fatalistic. They might still be alive,_ Gobber thought to himself.

He was sure that others were also praying for the teen's fate, though he knew not where they were.

They were running a little late before the winter ice hit, and it would be a close call over whether they made it home or not.

Every day the cold was a little more biting, the frost holding the men's axes and jamming their war chests a little more severe. Every day the chance of his apprentice's survival more slim.

"Melec!"

"Yeh? What ye want? Spit it out now." Gobber did not like his attitude, but it would have to be tolerated, for the moment.

"I see yeh have a boat over there." Gobber jerked a thumb towards the lashed vessel tied upright on the rail, so as to make space for the extra vikings. "I might need it."

"What are you gonna use it for? My boat is old, and it might fall apart at any moment now. It's been in my family forever. Since my grandfather even."

"To look for someone."

"Overboard?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"My apprentice and Astrid were thrown off the boat when we hit that rock. Can we use it? The boat, I mean."

Melec took a look at the darkened sky above him, then nodded.

"Looks like we might actually get some sun today." joked Gobber.

"Nothing particularly bad today." said Melec, still craning his neck to look above him. "You can use me boat. But remember, it's my boat that I'm lending to you. Got it?"

"We'll take care of it." said Gobber, containing his answer so that none of his indignance would slip through. The sheer impudence of this man and this son of his! With him outnumbered twenty to one he still managed to put up a brave fight. Gobber had to give it to him. He may have been only a fisherman, but he was still a true viking.

"Screech. Round up a few sailors."

"Sure. What for?"

"We're going to find Hiccup. In a boat." Gobber had to keep a glimmer of hope alive in their hearts. His words were more for himself then for his men.

"Aye. Shouldn't be too hard."

Screech found an idle man within minutes.

"I'm going too Gobber." said a deep voice, though still a woman's. It was Phlegma.

"Really?"

"Someone has to watch your back. There's nothing better to do anyway and I might even get to chew out Astrid for being foolish."

"Alright." Gobber trusted Phlegma, who had saved his life multiple times. Hell, everyone had saved everyone else's lives, and were saved in turn. What was that saying? It takes a village? Certainly true.

Melec hove to, slowing down so they could release the boat. They all piled in (making sure the compass and nav chart were there) and the remaining vikings lowered them evenly to the water, not an easy task without a pulley.

Melec's' son lost balance suddenly, causing the gunwhale of the boat to dip alarmingly.

Gobber took it cooly, and so did Phlegma, but the rower was surprised and jerked the ropes, unsettling the craft.

"Be careful lad!" shouted Gobber as the boat started to tip. It might overturn if they weren't careful. Gobber and Phlegma leaned to the opposite side of the tilt. It was good, but not good enough. The tilt became even more extreme.

The vikings decided to cut their losses and unceremoniously dropped the mooring lines, abandoning the boat to the tender mercy of gravity.

The boat hit the water with a large splash, and as if to make the day even worse, promptly started leaking. Melec was not lying when he had said that it was falling apart.

One man started rowing. Another settled aft while Gobber stood up on the gunwhales and directed.

Gobber had the aft lookout start bailing water while he found a way to caulk it. Finally he found some disgusting old tar and patched the hole.

"We're going to try and find Hiccup and Astrid," said Gobber. "Hopefully they've found a rock or island and lit a fire to guide us in. If not, use your eyes. Scan the water as well as the land."

They lowered the boat on the ropes, and it hit the water with a slap. Spray flashed up and hit Melec in the face, but he didn't mind it and continued to hold back the ship.

"If I'm not back by nightfall leave without me!" yelled Gobber.

The vikings all nodded. They knew only too well what could happen to a small boat in the sea. Still, some fidgeted uneasily at the thought of leaving him behind.

Soon they pushed off, and the paddles were dipping in the water as Gobber's face was struck with a small breeze.

Gobber pointed to a small crag in front of them that was part of a larger circle of dangerous shoals.

"We search that for any trace of them, or," Gobber didn't like to say it, "their bodies. After that we'll circle around and search that small islet over there.

The crew all instinctively looked over at the thing he was pointing at, even if he was pointing at water. Gobber waited as his men (and women) all frantically tried to spot the island.

"Got yeh! The islet's over here." He pointed the true direction, on the other side of the ship.

"We'll get to that one later. For now, keep yer eyes peeled."

The crag they inspected was almost completely devoid of life, except for some seagulls, who were busy pooping all over them. No sign or trace of Hiccup, blood or other sign.

An accursed current kept driving the boat away from it's targets, taking them northeast and away from any visible land.

If Astrid and Hiccup had been caught in that, they would have been swept out to sea, and with no reference point they would of died of the cold within minutes flat. Then their body's would be lost forever, and no one would know their fate but the killer whales.

Gobber shuddered at the thought, and ushered the boat on.

The rock that they were visiting also had more gulls and dried gull poop, but no Hiccup, and no Astrid.

At least they wouldn't run out of food or fuel to cook with, thought Gobber, ordering the rower to make for another spike in the water.

This one was relatively untouched by the birds, as it was about the size of a living room. Gobber wasn't taking any risks, so they made a circle around it, still hindered by that nagging current, and then, finding nothing, they left.

The results were the same each time. There was nobody on the shoals, and there hadn't been for a very long time, if indeed the crags had even felt the step of man's boot. These excuses for islands were unpopulated, and would be until Ragnarok.

The small islet floating in the waves had some grass on it, but was otherwise bare. They rowed smoothly in, everyone being pushed forward in their seats slightly when they made landfall.

They were on a small beach surrounded by five foot drops from the rest of the island. To get inland they would have to do a little rock climbing.

Gobber got out and tied the mooring lines to a nearby rock. Phlegma came with him, giving the island an inquisitive look, like she was measuring it and coming up wanting.

Leaving only the lad to take care of the boat. Hopefully without it sinking. Hopefully.

At this point they were far enough from the ship that it would be hard to raise their attention without trouble.

The island was stripped of any vegetation except for grass and a few bramble bushes.

After poking around in the crevices lit by the afternoon light, Gobber had seen nothing bigger than a lone Nadder's tracks, and they were old, the dragon only there for a respite and then having left.

Gobber felt the ocean breeze grow stronger. He looked up and saw the waters in turmoil. Without a word he signaled Phlegma to follow them.

She nodded and trotted across the island from where they were on the other side. The jump down wasn't hard, though it took a little guts. Gobber's pegleg made it down without any problems, though it grumbled a bit. He would fix that in Berk later. Right now they needed to get back to the ship before the deadline he had set for himself.

They made it back fine, if you discount their wet bottoms. The boat however, not so much.

It was leaking again in the bows now, and had soaked their tunics to a tee. Gobber was not so pumped about that, especially now that winter was approaching.

When the men saw that Gobber was returning without anyone extra they all mouthed a silent 'O' and went back to their business.

No mishaps occurred when they were pulled back topside and they all shuffled inside to take a break, the rower most of all. Gobber saw that the young lad had much spirit, and endeavored to save it before it was all crushed out of him.

He walked over and attempted to strike up a conversation over the sounds of the ship's crew getting underway. A hand tapped his shoulder for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Yes?" he asked without looking back. It was Melec, he could feel it.

"About Berk."

"You want payment to ship us there."

"It was not in my plan to go there. So, yes." Another headache to deal with. The talk with the lad would have to wait. Gobber knew that boy's moods, having trained him himself, he could afford to wait a minute for business matters.

"How much?"

"It's not how much. It's just that I have a family that'll worry if I disappeared over the winter." he leaned in uncomfortably.

"It isn't too late to go back."

"But that would be a risk."

"And you want to be paid over risk."

"Time is money as they say. The more time we spend here, the less time we're going to have. I don't think your apprentice is alive anyway." he said, as he pulled his face back, evidently to avoid the coming punch that Gobber so desperately wanted to give him.

Gobber held back though, for the rules of hospitality deemed that he and his crew were Melec's guest, and to wound him was to call his honor into question. So he just gave Melec the stink eye and walked over to the rower.

"Good afternoon Gobber." he said. His name was Wulf.

"You looked like you were a little down." Indeed. Wulf had been sitting in his little corner ever since they'd gotten back.

"I'll be alright."

"Good. I admire your fighting spirit. You'll be an important man someday Wulf, just you wait."

With that Gobber left Wulf to his own designs. His pegleg grumbled as he stood up and left, his mind only slightly soothed…..

* * *

The horn above Berk blasted three times. Stoick strode onto the dock, not minding the snow already near six inches deep and accumulating. The horizon looked bleak, and he scanned twice before spotting the dark silhouette of the approaching ship in the storm.

A single foreign freighter was busy rounding the coast and coming in to land. It stumbled along, bumbling at it's own pace, but Stoick could be patient, sometimes. As he watched it bumped a few ice floes that had fallen off the sea stacks. Soon the vessel drew close enough that he could discern several figures.

On the deck were many men. Men who looked mighty familiar, but he couldn't be sure. He stood still no longer, but turned and shouted, "Prepare the mead hall. We will have guests tonight."

Several of the young men pushed their way out of the growing crowd and ran off to tell the cooks of their guests. Some of the cooks were already preparing a feast. They weren't stupid. Three horn blasts was all it took to get the fires fanned and blazing, the meat a roasting, and the stomachs a hungering.

Most of the men on the ship were rowing, so as to get to a warm house as soon as possible. They were now close enough for him to distinguish different features on the ship, identifying it as Meathead.

A man called out to him. "Stoick! I could remember that face anywhere, and it's not getting any younger." He could recognize that voice anywhere.

"Gobber!"

As he looked over the faces of the rest of the men he noted that they were all there, plus an older sailor and another, younger one. The only ones he noticed weren't there were Hiccup and Astrid, although Hiccup tended to fade into the background, he was worried by Astrid's absence. Nevertheless, he put it away from his mind. That could wait for later. Now he needed to be a model host for his fellow tribesmen and their guest.

What were they doing on a Meathead ship anyway. Had they foundered at sea? These questions and a thousand more ran through his head, but the only thing he said to the vikings as they lowered the gangplank and walked on land once more was, "Welcome home!"

Dozens in the crowd immediately started to talk all at once, but Stoick waved them off with one hand, then asked the question that many had been asking since the moment when their ship became seriously late.

"What happened?" he asked Gobber.

"Our ship sunk, but Melec and his son saved us." Gobber pointed at them, especially the son who was now beginning to shrink under all the attention.

"That's an understatement." said one of the crew.

"Did everyone make it through all right though." demanded Stoick.

Gobber looked down, seemingly becoming very interested in the patching of his shoe.

"No. We lost two in the storm."

Losses were a thing of life in the world of vikings, an 'occupational hazard' to quote himself. That didn't make any of it any less painful, especially in a small village like Berk. And things were just looking up after his failed nest raid. Things could always get worse, Stoick figured.

Stoick didn't ask after it, he would just let Gobber wait to talk about it. Besides, it would be comparatively easy just to see who was missing. He measured the mingling men with a calculated eye and came up two less than he had sent on the trip. It wasn't how many had been lost, for it could have been much worse, but who was missing that bothered him.

He recounted, and still came up two short. Screech was there, and so were Phlegma and Gobber and others, but Hiccup and Astrid were missing.

Gobber gave Stoick a painful look and shuffled past him, his men trailing after him.

"We'll talk about this later." he said over his shoulder.

* * *

 **A/N Does anyone listen to my dumb recommendations? Tell me.**

 ***** **Knarr, a kind of Scandinavian merchant ship.**


	7. Chapter 7, Pilot Down, Presumed Dead

**A/N I'm back! Celebration over, throw up in the toilet, let's get to work. You may have been wondering why I've been gone the last few days. I took a trip out of state for 'reasons', and had no Wi-Fi. That sucked. But I'm back anyway, so take it or leave it.**  
 **Chapter six's riddle was solved by ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignsHisCommentsWithA. It was a matchstick.**  
 **Written while listening to Born to be wild. I'm instantly cool, no explanation required. Let it Ride by Bachman Turner Overdrive as well, and don't forget ZZ Top's Sharp Dressed Man. All great songs.**  
 **Riddle.**  
 **There was a man who was born before his father, killed his mother, and married his sister. Yet, there was nothing wrong with what he had done. Why?**  
 **Credit to AshlaTi for the term the Big Isn't. Her stories are excellently filled with lore, to say the least, much more so than my pitiful imitations.**  
 **Someday I'm going to have Skyla sit down and tell Nayla all about the dragon legends, but until then you're going to have to go on scraps. Internal consistency not being my strong point. Did anyone catch the Calvin and Hobbes reference?**

 **Recently updated as of 5/9/2018.**  
Ocean woke up to a blue morning, the air chilly and fresh like the fall leaves. It was almost dark, but the lightening of the sky in the east told her otherwise. She couldn't see the sun rising, but it would be up soon. Already the birds were chattering in small bursts while the nocturnal life receded and the course of the day began. Ocean got up and began to stretch her legs, feeling rather than hearing the slight pops and crackles her grumbling joints gave her. It had been a while since she'd had a flight even comparable to last night's, and her body wanted more rest like it always did. Except this time she had a reason to get up at a decent hour instead of letting herself sink back into merciful sleep.

She cast a look at the sleeping form of Stulte, who was breathing in and out gently, his face curled up in a draconic smile. A warm feeling blossomed in her chest, one that she could not easily find a word to describe. As Ocean breathed the pre-dawn air into her lungs and smelled the sweet, pungent tang of fresh apples, she found out what that feeling was. For the first time in a very long time, she knew true happiness. No other dragons interrupted her, no indignant squawks embedded themselves in her ears, for one, unadulterated moment, it was just her and nature, together blended into something far beyond her comprehension.

Perhaps best of all was that she could no longer smell the stench of Her fumes and that of the mountains' sulfuric heat. All her life, from the time she had hatched to the time of her adolescence she had inhaled that oily air, oblivious to the glorious freedom outside of the nest. Now it felt like a great weight had been removed from her chest, one that was invisible. One that she had not even known was there. Before she had been too busy running away from the Queen to even notice the difference, but now it was clear as day what she had been missing.

Ocean walked out of the cave and took another deep breath of the unpolluted air. She just couldn't get enough of it to satisfy her needy body, so long deprived that it seemed to drink in the atmosphere on it's very own. She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, or whether just do a random happy dance in the middle of nowhere. She could spend a million years like this and never get tired, so thrilling was it to be free of the last tendril of Her existence.

The night clouds that had once been barely distinguishable were now illuminated by the sun's light, turning into surreal red streaks in the sky, their trailing edges transformed into various shades of beautiful dark purples and pretty violets of contrasting hues, seeming to flow across the sky like a smooth waterfall.  
Tiny bits of orange joined the mosaic now, and the line of light stretching over the horizon became a shallow bowl. It was not so dark anymore, the trees having gone from tall blobs of nothingness to detailed arrays of leaves and thick, brown trunks with varied bark.

Their island was pretty bare except for some shrubs and bushes. A few gulls milled around on the rocks, but flew away with an indignant squawk as soon as she got closer to them, exploring. She wasn't hungry enough to consider chasing them though, so she let them go.

Thankfully the little island had a small pool full of water from the last rain, and Ocean took a long refreshing drink, dipping her head into the water when she pleased. It cleansed her face and moistened her tongue, which she had long since dried out from her panting the night before.

Once she had done all this and a little more she returned to the cave, where Stulte was still sleeping but beginning to stir.

"Wake up sleepyhead," she said, not too harshly.

"Unnh." he groaned. "Where am I?"

"We're a long way from home, that's true at least."

Stulte got up and brushed himself off with a flap of his handsome wing.

"That doesn't help." he said, "But I think I remember now." he said, looking around for a moment.

"It doesn't." said Ocean. "But it's good to know you're brain hasn't cooked off yet.

Both of them said nothing before Stulte seemed to collect himself. He drew up to his full hight, almost crashing into the rock above his head. He drifted off for a

moment again, before snapping back to reality.

"Let's take stock of what we do have, shall we." he said at last. "I'd prefer to have the rope off at any rate. It's rather limiting."

He tried to get the rope that was wrapped around his waist off, but he couldn't quite, for he bounced up and down with his legs, kicking them and clawing at his chest with his wings. Ocean giggled and started to help him. The line seemed to have a mind of it's own, nearly tying up Stulte's feet twice.

Ocean had to be careful because if she pulled too hard, it would saw off and break on the dragon's hard spines, but too softly and the rope would do it's own thing, or it would just take too long to get it off, and then Stulte would probably get impatient and snap it.

At this point it was stuck in a little bare spot in Stulte's scales. She tugged and pulled, but it wouldn't come out.

Stulte seemed faintly amused.

"I think that you should push up a little." he said.

"Why?"

"Maybe it'll come out of the chink if you do that." he said again, then added, "I don't like it when it pulls on my skin either. Once it's out, be careful. I swear that thing has a life of it's own."

"I'm starting to think that's true." said Ocean through clenched teeth as she tried to pull the rope out her own way.  
It didn't work.

Ocean swallowed her pride, though she hesitated, then pushed up, the rope catching a little on one last spine but then coming off easily enough. She lowered it to the ground gently, carefully, as if scared that if she lost control the rope would embed itself in Stulte's scales once more.

Finally, it was off.

"One stubborn coil of rope. A little frayed but it'll do." Stulte remarked.  
Ocean was busy separating the scrolls that had fallen off Stulte in the ordeal. She slid them from each other's embrace and examined the parchment.

"Two scrolls of parchment. Large if I'm not mistaken."

Stulte did a wolf whistle, and shook his head.

"Nayla didn't stop at any expenses to get this stuff did she."

"Or trouble." added Ocean, though she harbored no ill will towards her friend.

He laughed, a rumbling basso, though it was still reminiscent of what a Nadder should sound like. Ocean laughed half-heartedly along with him, then gave up and returned to sorting the supplies again, though there wasn't much to go on.

"Now the only thing to do is put this stuff back on again." Stulte said, not laughing this time.

"What if we left it here for a bit?" asked Ocean. "We could take a quick flight around the island with nothing holding us back. I bet you're bored from carrying them around all night. A little exercise couldn't hurt, hmmm?"

Stulte didn't wait.

"Sure."

They hopped out of their sleeping hole and prepared to fly. The weather was perfect, with just a hint of flowers refreshing the salty sea air.

"Do you mind if I take a drink first?" asked Stulte. He could smell the pool nearby.

"Go ahead."

He quickly found the pool and ducked his head in. It was not at all muddy, being trapped in a pile of rock, and he took several quick gulps, wettening his tongue just like Ocean had. He didn't have much time to stick around though, and he stopped short of filling himself, not wanting to slow himself down for the coming flight either.

He fluttered back to Ocean, who had been waiting patiently for him to come back, and spread his wings wide.

"Wanna race?" he asked.

"I'm tired, but I could use the exercise."

Ocean shared a mutual grin with him.  
"The first one to go all the way around the island twice wins."

They took off, Ocean leading as they gained altitude and eyed their course.  
"Go!" shouted Ocean.

Stulte pulled into an inverted dive, just to show off. Ocean just formed a dagger and streaked ahead, stealing the lead from him.  
He couldn't allow that to happen, so he pumped his wings hard to catch up. He had almost made it to Ocean when they made the first lap, zooming past the cave like maniacs.

They flapped frequently and hard, like songbirds in an elaborate courting dance. Now they were halfway through the second lap and approaching the end. If he wanted to win he'd have to do something to steal first place.

His chance came when Ocean climbed in front of him to gain hight, slowing down and allowing him to close the distance. He followed her in the climb, making use of his heavier weight to keep his inertia, while Ocean struggled in front of him. In a flash he had caught up, and now he was in front. The final turn came, and Stulte was ready.

He spun over like a dive bomber, and spiraled down to the finish, where he attempted to make a stylish landing, touching down a bit off kilter, which ruined a perfect finish, but he wasn't complaining. Ocean landed much more gracefully, as if to make up for her earlier performance, not that anyone was watching.

They boiled up a few fish and settled down for a while. After some time Stulte looked up.

"It's about time we got going." he said.

"Not just yet." said Ocean, "Not just yet." she yawned.

"I think I definitely caught it from you."  
Stulte had no clue about what 'it' was. He thought it had something to do with yawns. Speaking of which, soon he couldn't stop yawning himself.  
They went back and forth, opening their mouths wide in turn. He grew tired, and soon they were taking a pleasant nap on the cool autumn ground, underneath the only tree on the island.

"One of us should have left before.. this *yawn happened." he said right before falling asleep.  
Dreams of roses and beautiful paradise islands filled his imagination, so he was rather disappointed when he was the first to wake this time. He nudged Ocean sleepily, to make her wake up.

"Unnh." she groaned. Not for the first time.

Stulte smiled.

"I think we should get going." he said, then left for the supplies in the cave. Behind him, Ocean groggily stood, then spent some time in a daze before following him with staggered steps.

Their temporary home was only a few steps away from any place on the island, and soon Stulte was balancing over the entrance, thinking twice about jumping down. Eventually he overcame his fears and reached out. Getting in was not a problem.

The rope and parchment were mildly damp, but it was not serious, and the inborn salt in the water would keep it from the mold and the rot until they found a use for it. He tried to put all his stuff on, but it was too hard to wrap it around his waist properly, until Ocean came up and helped him.

Soon they were all ready to go. Out they flew, well fed, their youthful muscles aching for another flight. They flew on for a while, though it was only half an hour. During that time they passed numerous shoals and small islets, but none of them were as large as the one they had bedded on. The sea stacks grew smaller and smaller in width until finally all that was left of them were little sticks pointing up from the ocean. And after a while even these were gone, swallowed by the waves which made an almost eternal sea.

"The water just goes on forever and ever." said Ocean, "Is there really a shore on the other side?"

"There must be one, or the world would over balance and tumble. At least that's what I think." said Stulte.

"I think we might have made a mistake with this whole business." said Ocean.

"Mmmhmm."

They flew on for a minute, but Ocean felt that the conversation wasn't really over. An awkward silence reigned while it gnawed away at her. Stulte had probably forgotten about it anyway. She should just forget about it too. But something about her wouldn't let it go, and finally she spoke her opinion.

"But the world looks flat to me." she announced.

Stulte just chuckled.

"Not really. You can prove the Big Is is spherical."

"Then prove it!" said Ocean.

Stulte hummed, trying to remember the old days with his tutor. They all seemed so long ago.

"When a dragon flies away from another dragon, he looks like he's getting lower even though he's flying at the same hight."

"Explain."

"If you have a round rock, you can't see what's on the other side. At some point the rock curves away from your eyes so much that you can't see what's past it. It's called the horizon, and it looks like the place where the sky meets the sea."

They had slowed down to talk together without winding themselves, so Stulte was able to point ahead to the horizon pretty easily.

"If the horizon is the place where the sea meets the sky, why can't we fly to it?"

"My tutor always said that the air was round just like the Big Is. He says you'll never be able to fly to the Big Isn't because you'll just drown in midair."

"How do we know that's true?"

"There was this dragon named Boyle once. Weird name, I know. He was a great scientist, and he created something we call Boyle's law."

"So?"

"Boyle's law says that the more pressure a gas is under, the less space it occupies, and the colder it gets. Pressure is a measure of how much weight is on top of something, right?"

"Right." said Ocean, who thought for a moment. "What I don't see is what Boydle's law has to do with the drowning hight."

"Boyle, not Boydle. Air weighs something, so the air at the bottom of a mountain is under less pressure then the air at the top."

Ocean was about to argue this point when she realized that the air sweeping past her wings was real, so it must have had at least some weight, no matter how small it seemed to be.

"Anyway," Stulte continued, "if the pressure at the top is less then the pressure at the bottom, then that means that the air on top takes up more space for the same amount of it."

"Go on."

"When there's less air in a given space, it's hard to get enough in your lungs, so when you get too high, you can't breathe anymore. That's my opinion at any rate. And even if you could breathe up there, you'd freeze to death. I knew someone who almost died that way."

"Oh."

"Back to the Big Is being round. We know that the Big Is is round because when you're flying toward an island, you can't see it until you're right on top of it."

"And the higher you go, the easier it is to spot land." said Ocean, putting the pieces together.

"Because you're above the rock, looking down." said Stulte.

"Aha!" said Ocean, who had gotten the concept. "So that's why the sun sets! The world turns one way, and the sun doesn't move to catch up."

"Exactly. To light a candle is to cast a shadow, as my father once said."

With her question answered, Ocean had no reason not to settle in for the flight, hardy wings flapping rhythmically as they flew steadily towards the horizon.

Now the must of rain had changed to the crisp smell of oncoming sleet. The storm ahead of them seemed to grow larger by the minute, the billowing grey clouds rising above their heads, roiling in the wind's embrace while recognizable shapes floated past their gaze before turning into something else entirely, chiseled by countless updrafts and gusts rushing past them as they floated high above the water. Faint blue flashes of lightning shadowed and defined the mists, highlighting the clouds behind them and starting off low rumbles of thunder only dimly audible to even the two dragons.

It was a majestic sight, but one filled with thinly veiled danger and unforeseen hazards; even as an especially bright flash of lightning illuminated the the clouds directly in front of her a tingle of energy flowed through her spine and into her body, filling her scales with a mild buzzing sensation that was not quite unlike the jingling shiver of anticipation that she was so used to seeing in Nayla when she woke up in the mornings, ready to play. Still, it hurt to think of her peer's sacrifice – No, she mustn't go down that path again. Nayla was fine, she could take care of herself, Ocean told her brain. So why didn't she believe it?

Ahead of them the storm grew ever taller and darker, obscuring more and more of the sky as they went headlong towards it. Still, there was some consolation for them. The morning sun, which had once threatened to be swallowed by the gray mass, now shone upon their jeweled backs, warming their muscles and seeming to wash the fatigue in their muscles away. It was almost one o'clock, and already they had covered almost fifty-odd miles without realizing it since the beginning of their flight, ever approaching that inflated wall of turbulence.

Stulte decided to fly that chasm when he came to it. A few islets protruded from the water at times, some large enough to sport small buildups of shrubs and seagulls that milled around, restless from the coming weather. He peered into the storm to see if there would be any more of them. He wished he hadn't. The rain poured down in waving sheets, obscuring all but itself, while his sharp eyes spotted showers of hail the size of baseballs, if they had been invented yet. He subtly began to increase altitude, and Ocean hastened to follow.

For now they were floating in the breeze, riding the occasional updraft from the crashing waves far beneath them, while the sun heated the salt filled air. A slight headwind began to pick up, then increased to a moderate breeze. It wasn't that they were afraid of, for dragons aren't afraid of much, but rather what the growing wind symbolized.

A few light wisps of moisture scudded ahead of them, then below them, casting tiny shadows on the surface breakers. The tingling that Ocean had felt every time there was a lightning strike was getting stronger, sending pulses through her spine now, growing the slightest bit uncomfortable. Gusts blew irregularly from below them, and above them, and all around them, making it harder to fly straight. Still, their instincts had told them the right way to go, and they followed. That didn't mean she had to like crosswinds.

They passed their first real cloud, a puffy and white thing that looked remarkably like a floating, suspended marshmallow. There were more of course, there always were, but Stulte began to climb again, and soon they were out of the first levels and flying to clearer skies above them. Only for a tongue of darkness to fall upon them as a curling vestige of the storm was stretched by the wind so that it cast a shadow on the two dragons far below. The thunder was more audible now; Ocean began to count seconds after the first tingles would arrive in her body, now more like shudders, waiting for the rolling booms.

She gave up after she realized the amount of lightning streaking through the mists ahead of them, which made it virtually impossible to determine whether or not a given lightning flash was related to a given rumble from the clouds. They were coming closer now, the sun completely blocked out by a looming thunderhead behind them, with no land bigger than a tiny, eroded rock sticking out of the waters beneath them.

"This is it. No turning back now." said Stulte.

Ocean just looked at the looming storm ahead of them, buffeted by increasingly frequent gusts. It had all looked so small and insignificant when she had first seen it as a rising line of pretty white from the island, which now seemed long ago and insignificant to what they were about to attempt.  
The first rumbles of thunder became audible, and still there was no land in sight for the two to land. The rain fell from the clouds in great sheets, like a mist obscuring the water underneath the great dog pile of clouds, though it sometimes broke up and he could see the surface beneath.  
The waves beneath them started to show whitecaps, and the smell of the spray reached their nostrils stronger than ever. The sun was completely blocked out by a thunderhead high in the Big Is now, almost so high as to be in the Big Isn't.

It looked almost picturesque, what with the sunlight flaring around the edges, and a golden tinge on its curves. Almost like a head it grew in size and shape, almost taking the form of a human face.

Ocean had to remind herself that this was a dangerous storm she was flying into, with no land in sight to roost on.

"Looks like a bad one." said Stulte, raising his voice a little now that the rumblings were getting louder.

"It'll be difficult."

"We'll make it."

Ocean tilted her wings and allowed her body to drift closer to him, borrowing his strength from him.

It was a bad storm, and they were headed straight into it, but Ocean wasn't afraid. With Stulte by her side she trusted that she could handle anything some fluffy clouds could throw at her, and with that thought they disappeared into the storm's folds, hidden from the outside world completely.  
The first winds were not so bad, and Ocean could easily see her kin flying beside her through the rain. Suddenly her right wing bucked up, and she spun around for a second, losing sight of Stulte. She tried not to panic as she sifted the showers for any hint of him, seeing nothing through the dark mists.  
In a moment he was there with her, having turned back the moment she was lost from beside him.

They flew on, shaken but not discouraged.

Hail started to form on the winddrifts. The rain grew thick. Not the kind of heavy rain you and I are accustomed to, which is a mere shower by comparison. This stuff was so thick that a man holding up his hand would not be able to see it in front of him, if it wasn't hit by hail first, or if he could even keep his eyes open at all in the rain, for it was not only thick but large in size as well, driving into every little nook and cranny mercilessly. The sleet was worse than that, for when it got into a chink in her scales it stayed and seemed to freeze up her joints. And the hail. The hail!

It was hitting her wings and making it hard for Ocean to fly. It felt like her body was being pulverized into dust, torn apart, sprinkled onto the ground and then stamped on for an entire hour. Even though it bounced off her scales with a crack, yet still the force of the blows became almost unbearable. It was the definition of pain, and Ocean felt like she was going to die, but still she kept at it.

She had thoroughly lost sight of Stulte by now, though she could feel his powerful strokes beside her. Now she was navigating mostly by her 'core senses', trying to make sense of her situation and fly a straight course against the wind. She was doing a pretty good job of it, though the powerful tempest threatened to drive her off course and blow her into the waves. She gritted her teeth and carried on.

I am a survivor, she told herself, but there seemed to be no end to the whipping and lashing of speeding, foggy water ahead of her.

But all storms must blow themselves out sometime, and it looked like this one was doing just that. She could see Stulte in front of her now, but just barely. If she called out at the top of her lungs she might just be able to talk to him.

"We've made it!" she yelled.

"That's the worst that the weather could throw at us, and it failed." he said triumphantly.

Their celebration was premature, for suddenly a fast, air bursting downdraft caught Ocean by the tail and pulled her down. She tried to fly upwards, but her wings were locked down by the rush of air and couldn't move properly. She began to spin out.

"Nooooo!" yelled Stulte.

He tried to grab her wing, not caring that he might rip it. Unfortunately his momentum carried him away from Ocean and made it too hard for him to catch her. It brought him out of the reach of the downdraft and kept him safe. The same could not be said for Ocean.

Her descent lasted all of fifteen seconds, a struggle to the very end, tumbling clockwise all the way. The clouds parted below her and she could dimly see through the rain the dim outline of a moderately sized island.

In a last ditch attempt to save herself her second wind came, and she made it out of the cloudburst.

Too late.

Her tail was still unbalanced from the tumble she'd had, and she stalled and flipped over into a flat spin, counterclockwise this time. Her brain was unable to adjust to the sudden change, and she nearly blacked out, very dizzy at any rate.

She struggled to see anything through her dizziness, other than that the ground drew nearer. Her second to last thought before she impacted was the irony that the very thing she had been praying for was about to kill her. Her last thought was a prayer to her father.

Then her wing hit a tree, there was a crack, a jolt of pain, and everything went black.

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

Astrid's P.O.V.

I tried to sit up, but my stomach twisted suddenly and I keeled over and threw up. Good thing I'd not had food since breakfast, otherwise it would have been much worse. As it is the only thing that happened was some sea water gushing out of my throat. It felt salty and for the first time I noticed my lips were dry.

Hiccup must've carried me away from the shore. I'm not going to say I'm grateful, because that would probably make his brain misfire or something and then he'd die from embarrassment or something. I'll keep it to myself.

I'm a little dizzy right now, but I should be fine. It's Hiccup I need to worry about now. I looked around, still confused from it all. The snow is falling lightly on me, still unchanging in it's beauty and coldness.

I've got to take stock of the situation. I looked around and started to rise, but a warm hand stopped me and pushed me down.

It was Hiccup, who had probably saved my life.

"You might catch cold." he says, and then pulls off his coat and puts it on me. The poor toothpick must be freezing right now without it.

"I'll go get some wood. Hopefully there will be some flint and maybe there'll be a fire. You wait here while I do that."

That tone. Was that.. Authority in his voice? I was thirsty though, so I turned over and scooped up some snow in my bare hands. It felt numb to the touch and for the moment I was grateful for the cold. The snow felt refreshing, moistening my mouth and reinvigorating me somewhat.

I looked up to the gray sky for guidance, but there was none. This is going to be a long day, if I even survive it.

 **A/N Thanks for sticking with me here. I'm really glad to have you guys, though at the moment I may or may not have 666 views. I really appreciate all the support and help you guys have given me. I gave you Astrid's P.O.V ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignsHisCommentsWithA. You happy? Also, you should get an account. You have great ideas and I think (personally) that you would make a great author.**

 **As for all the negative people. I have a review delete button, and any non-constructive criticism will be ignored. Just saying.** **Speak of the devil, this story isn't really planned out that far in advance, so if you have any suggestions ThatGuy, I would gladly take them. My update schedule is set for Friday or Saturday, so standby.**  
 **4.1K words. Yay! This has been B. Avar, and I'm signing out. See ya next time!**


	8. Chapter 8, A New Hope

**A/N Written while listening to _Tron Legacy: End Titles_ by Daft Punk, both original and piano versions. Just listen to it while you're reading the last part and you'll understand why.**

 **Quote of the day.**

 **"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."**

 **My new schedule is probably going to be every other day except Saturday. I'll probably update then and Sunday.**

 **I'm currently trying to give Astrid her own special voice, different from the other characters. I'd like her to have an interesting role, so giving her her own narrative is my way of showing that.**

 **Thank you ThatGuy. It's all about starting each day. Stop writing when you're comfortable, not when the going gets tough. And remember that I'll read your stories if you write them, and many others will too.**

 **What has kept me going is you guys, especially you. At least you have my thanks for that.**

 **P.S It would be convenient to be able to P.M you, communicating in this format gets a little stuffy, if you know what I mean?**

Astrid's P.O.V

o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o-o-0-o-o

This is my attempt at taking stock of our circumstances.

We're on the eastern side of a rock Hiccup picked out for the two of us. The wind is broken by its bulk, and I'm leaning up against it currently, trying to make do with the things I have. The forest looks pretty, although there are a few broken limbs lying on the ground from the sleet and snow, creating small shapes that are rather distracting.

We're in a sort of cove, protected from the winds by the rock at my back, the protection rock, Hiccup called it.

There are rocks lining it, and we're sitting on a small hill in the center that will protect us from the spring melt, if we make it till then. When we make it, I remind myself.

It's not too cold, though my coat must've slipped off in the waves somehow, and Hiccup's is the only one left. He's given it to me to keep me warm, the little toothpick. He's the one who really needs it, though it won't really protect us against anything colder than this.

We have no fire, no food, my only hope is that our clansmen will come back, and there's only one competent person here. Me.

With only my dagger between us and no other tools besides our heads, I fear we don't have much of a chance through the cold northern winter.

Sitting here against a dumb rock when I should be up and about doing things isn't helping my poor spirits. Unfortunately Hiccup was right about me when he said I wasn't in good enough shape. I've got a hacking cough now, which has gotten worse since he dragged me off shore. I should get warm.

The only way to do that right now is to snuggle deeper into his coat, which being made for a walking fishbone, is horribly inadequate and small, though it's good material. Perk of being the chief's son at any rate.

Our only hopes are that Hiccup and I will be able is to make a lean-to shelter, which Hiccup is working on, or at least trying to. There's no mud to patch it together and doubtless the thing will fall before it's even complete. It already has, twice in fact.

I'd better at least help him, so we can survive. I don't have any faith in that boy.

My interior monologue was broken by Hiccup, whose shout shattered the stillness.

"Aha!"

I look up at him from my small blanket, asking an unasked question. He sees my glance and settles down a bit, though his face still looks jubilant.

Hiccup has three small sticks in his hands and a little moss set on the rock beside him. He's cleared off the snow on a small stone and that's been his thinking space for a while. I haven't bothered him since we got here. At least he shows good judgement.

I coughed, both from my cold and to get his attention.

"What'd you find?"

"I think I've solved our structural problem." He held up the moss. "I can use this to tie the ends together so our shelter doesn't fall." He pointed excitedly to the pile of sticks that was our current shelter.

"What about a fire? We'll need one."

"I haven't found any flint yet to start it, but I'm pretty sure there's some over there in the marl." He got up and began to walk over to one of the rock patches that decorated the forest floor in narrow splotches of yellowish grey, got down on his legs and started combing through the stones. It was a few yards away, and he was facing at a three-quarters angle to me, so I couldn't see what he was doing very well.

He looked through them with an experienced eye, combing over the marl, (What's that?). He broke off a rock, looked it over, then put it down. He found another one, looked it over too, and put that on the ground as well.

I was getting bored when I heard the dull smash of stone against stone and my eyes refocused back to him. Hiccup was wringing his fingers, while some silver flakes skittered about on the ground in front of his knees, obviously flint. He licked his fingers and put them in his vest.

"Found some."

The stuff he'd got was in several pieces now, but still large enough to effectively spark and strike flame. It was cloudy and had several bent fault lines from what I could see. Not good enough for weapons, but it would serve our purpose, for now.

"Now, I only have to find some tinder." said Hiccup. Easier said then done. The sleet had crept into every last corner of almost all the trees in the bloody forest.

"There's a little birch stand, behind you." I said to him, not wanting to point.

"Thanks."

He gathered all the sharp pieces with a stone and dumped them into his vest, not wanting to touch them for their razor edge would draw blood and sting him if he made a mistake. He tried to stand up, but here he had a problem. Having his weight on the knees for so long had crushed the blood flow and moving them was hard, let alone standing up.

He braced himself against the rocks with one of his hands while the other held the precious flint, still in his vest. Somehow he managed to push himself up without falling or spilling his cargo. He turned around slowly, eyes darting to and fro from the birch stand to the ground, as if to mark it in his memory.

Now he was back, setting down the pieces in the snow gently, but I stopped him this time. I pulled my hand out of the jury-rigged blanket and cleared away the snow, brushing it's palm accidentally against one of the shards. It stung, but I'm a viking. I ignored the pain before putting back the hand.

He nodded a thanks, then emptied his vest while I rubbed the blood off my fingers. He stood up against the large rock and blew on his fingers for a second, then looked around him with a sense of accomplishment.

Our little camp looked pitiful, but it was all his work, so I allowed him to bask in his pride for a minute, just to let him have some confidence about himself. We can't have him giving up while I'm sick, can we? Hopefully I'll get better, and then I won't have to rely on him.

Finally I started to get some stones and lay them in a fire circle, reminding him of his job. He made a face and opened his mouth, but closed it and walked off to the birch stand.

There was a dead stump close at hand, and some fallen branches would make good starter after the tinder was all gone. Firewood wouldn't be a problem, at least not for the time being.

Once I finished up with the fire circle and the larger fry I started gathering any small twigs I could find that were dry and would be able to sustain a growing fire.

Soon my hands were full and I had to return to the fire pit, only a little way, for I had not strayed far. I dumped them in the middle, making a small pile that was easily reachable. On second thought though, maybe I should put them on the rim to make space?

I scooped them up and did just that, sticking around for a few seconds to make sure that they wouldn't slip off from their perch.

Hiccup wasn't back yet so I started looking around for more twigs. I found a small pile beneath a rock, but they were wet and so useless to me. The ripping sound of tearing bark vaguely reached my ears. I forced myself onto my legs and started walking in a circle around camp, searching for more fuel. There were some more sticks lying on top of rocks and things, but while not quite wet, they were damp, and I passed them by, not wanting to bother with them quite yet.

I found some dry wood scraps on the bottom of a half-fallen log that had somehow not been hit by the sleet or chopped up by hail.

I dropped the twigs I was carrying and loaded up on rotting wood. Soon I was holding my left hand at a weird angle, trying to keep my spoils (literally) from dropping on the ground, but at the same time attempting to fit as much in as possible. My coughing fits were not helping, shaking off most of my progress before it even started.

After a while I gave up on this and put the rest of it in my right hand. Then I rubbed the trunk with my elbow, trying to get some to fall on my open hands now that I couldn't use them. Hiccup interrupted me.

"If you just carried your stuff back to camp and dumped what you have, you could just come back with empty hands. Then it wouldn't be so hard to get the wood off the trunk."

Why does he always have to be right? At least, most of the time he's been right. But not when it comes to killing dragons. I'm still leading there.

As it was, I grunted and plunged through the deepening snow back to the fire pit. Hiccup had arranged a temporary moss shelter for the wood and flint so it wouldn't get wet. They had better protection then we did. Very funny.

Hiccup took one look at the stones and started to move them carelessly from the middle of our little sanctum to our rock, showing strength I didn't know he had.

"Why are you moving the stones Hiccup? I just got done with our fire pit, and now you're going to mess it up."

"I want the fire to be inside our shelter, so I want to build the fire around it, not the other way around." he said, with a tinge of authority in his voice that made me uncomfortable.

Once again he's made sense. But that doesn't change the fact that he was going to tip the sticks I had painstakingly gathered on the snow if he kept moving them roughly like that.

So I retorted, "You'll spill the tinder if you're not careful!"

"I can always move it, besides, I can be more careful than most people think."

This coming from the village clown, not convinced. As if reading my thoughts, Hiccup spoke up for himself again.

"It's not that I'm naturally clumsy or anything like that," he dropped a rock on the snow with a 'chock, then left for another one, "the pressure gets to me whenever you guys are watching, specially Snotlout and the gang." He dropped another rock and then didn't immediately go get a replacement, wheezing as he filled his lungs with fresh air.

Still not convinced. I gave him a hard look.

"Sooo, if you would stop staring at me like that, I might be able to get this done without screwing up and killing myself or something."

I just turned and started the short walk back to the log for a second load, but I didn't get five yards before Hiccup stopped me with a sincere plea.

"Astrid, can I borrow your knife for a minute?"

I contemplated for a moment. He would probably cut his fingers off, or worse. But it wasn't like I was in good enough shape to use it either.

"Sure."

I grabbed it out of my belt, where it was hanging awkwardly, and tossed it to him handle first, not without trouble, I am ashamed to note.

He caught it with surprising dexterity, but unsurprisingly his clumsiness struck again, and while he was trying to grab it it slipped out of his finger with the blade pointed downwards, falling and almost hitting his leg. He jumped out of the way at the last moment, but he still managed to smash his back on the big boulder, the protection rock, as he'd named it, though ironically it couldn't protect him from himself.

Hiccup groaned while my knife skidded on the ground before finally stopping, it's path seeming to trace a sadistic expression in the snow.

He straightened and got back up well enough, though a little worse for wear. I couldn't help but feel a wee bit sorry for him, but I turned away and headed back to get some more wood. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him tentatively pick up the dagger with his fingers before he passed out of my vision.

The only good thing ,now, was that it had stopped snowing, even if the sky was still cloudy and it's greyness still sapping my energy.

I'd take what I could get.

I got some more wood out of that dead tree, but hollowing out the inside had taken it's toll. It was nothing but bark and a little innards now, so much so that I wasn't surprised when it sagged in its perch, twisting and rolling on the ground until it snapped pitifully. All that was left was a small gash in the snow and the remains of one, very wet log.

When I turned to go back to camp I hit a deep spot on a drift and the snow happily spilled into my boot, reminding me that fire was a priority, and that time was precious.

I straightened my back, ignoring the numbed cries of my toes. If I needed to amputate them for this I would never forgive him, though I'd never really take revenge. He had had enough to think about already. Though I would never admit it, Hiccup was becoming more of friend to me.

Thinking this I strode into camp, false confidence plastered on my face.

The boy was sitting on his rock, cutting up bark with his dagger to catch a spark. Before I could hail him I had another coughing fit shake up my head, my eyes teared up, and I couldn't see very much. I brushed the tears away between times, though it left splinters in my face that burned my eyes even more.

I shoved the wood into it's shelter beneath the moss and nearly groaned in frustration. I swear that the flint looked at me smugly. I was still coughing when Hiccup heard me and looked up, compassion in his face, though it showed some wariness as well.

"I could have done that, you know." he pointed to the armload of splinters and branches I had brought.

"I don't need your help." I practically spat the last word at him. Immediately he shrank back into his outer shell and ceased to be himself.

"Have it your way." he said, then added, copying my voice, "Watch the fire when it's lit. I'll just go to sleep if you don't need my help, pity if you ask me."

No one asked you, I thought, but didn't say out loud. Hiccup at least deserved some respect, after all he had rescued me from the waves. And probably revived me, which he wasn't gloating about like Snotlout would.

In fact, he'd said nothing to me over the incident, nor even mentioned it in passing. He still didn't care about me though, like all the other boys, he must only be focused on the 'Hofferson', not on the Astrid. Someday he'll slip up, and I'll catch him. But not now. We still need each other to survive.

Hiccup wasn't really serious about going to sleep though. In fact he kept on working with my dagger, slicing up tree bark with ongoing determination, though his fingers were red and his wrist shook.

"I might not need your help," I told him, "but you certainly need mine."

His coat was already on his back, so there was no need for that. I plopped down next to him instead and grabbed a piece of birch, tearing it into small strips, though apparently they were not small enough for his tastes, as he took them and tore them up savagely. After a minute, the stuff was now only in tiny wisps. He took it and careful to avoid the snow, tipped them onto another flat rock with the other tinder, next to the fire circle, which he had rebuilt while I was away. There was no trace of the twigs I had made so much of a fuss over on the rock. I searched the snow, and finding no trace of a spill returned my eyes to the pit.

Hiccup caught my stare at the fire circle and just pointed at our fuel rock, almost like he'd read my mind.

He makes me nervous when he does that, seeming to anticipate my thoughts. It's nothing special, what he can do, he's just reading my face, but some part of me, however little, is superstitious, and it's hard to brush that fact away when someone gives you an unspoken answer to an unspoken question, even though we were just talking about it earlier.

We have enough tinder now, but Hiccup doesn't look like he's going to stop tearing up this bark anytime soon. He has his reasons.

"We'll make double the amount we need," once again the answer to an unspoken question. "If this fails I don't want to be back to square one."

Good thinking, I admitted, although he could do a better job putting away our work. A wind could come and blow it all away, though we were on the lee of a big rock, or it could come and snow, though it had stopped, Gods, was that only an hour ago.

I looked up, used to being able to tell the time from the sun. It just wasn't out today, hiding in its warm home waiting for the bad weather to pass. I smiled at my analogy. There would always be room for more fireside stories, if only this would work out.

After a few more minutes of frantic ripping, Hiccup announced to his huge audience (Me), that we were ready to start the fire.

First he cleared the fire pit of any snow, leaving behind only pine needles and some frozen mud. Then he took some of the driest branches and laid them straight from one side to the other, putting some of the larger twigs beneath them as he did so. Then he took a little more than half of the birch bark wisps and made a fluffy pile, putting an indent with his thumb in the middle.

He set it down on the branches with a flourish, then reached for the flint, which I had forgotten about. Hiccup knocked it a few times with his knife, but not to strike a spark. Rather, he seemed to be doing something with it.

"Testing?" she asked.

"I'm edging it." he said thoughtfully, then added, "It has to be just the right way to spark like I want."

"How do you do that." This information could be useful in the future.

He mumbled something under his breath to the tune of 'the great Astrid doesn't know how to start a fire.'

"I do know how to start one, I just don't know how to edge the flint." I said, fighting to not raise my voice at the end.

"The flint doesn't actually ignite. I think a tiny piece of the steel peels off and lights the flames. In order for that to happen the flint has to be angled just right."

"But I thought the flint ignited. What makes the steel get so hot?"

"It's called friction, a Roman term I think." he said. "It means that when you rub two things against each other, they get hot. I have a theory about that..." he trailed off.

"And my dagger won't dullen." Changing the subject.

Hiccup considered.

"It'll take time, much more time than you'd think. It's a very tiny piece of steel, to rephrase."

"Can you show me how to do the edging."

"I'm done with this piece, but we can do another one."

He reached for another piece of the sharp rock and held it up in his hands.

I watched almost eagerly as he took the dagger and knocked it hard against a small crack in the stone. Some of it split off and Hiccup held that piece up, after he found it in the snow.

"Mudstone." he said.

The remaining rock was blisteringly sharp.

"Is it ready?"

"Too piercing of a point. It won't make the spark I'm looking for, because it'll only break off when ya' hit it." A trace of his mentor's accent creeping into his voice.

He expertly cut it off into the shape of an arrow head, leaving a flatter, and decidedly smaller, piece of flint behind. With a last cut he dressed one last sharp edge down and smoothed it.

"Gobber's better than me at this kind of thing," he said at last, "But I've almost got him beat." Matter of fact.

He motioned for her to get some wood for their fire. I found a few small branches and brought them over.

"I really should start getting some more wood for overnight." This was just an excuse and I knew it. I wanted to see a fire burning in the pit as much as he did.

Hiccup just offered the flint to me.

"It is your dagger after all." he said.

I just smiled and tried to strike it. The spark flew completely the wrong way, opposite the snug cocoon of birch bark, and into the snow, smothered by the frozen wastes.

Hiccup frowned and took the flint. He took my knife as well, and showed me to strike down at about a thirty degree angle, which I was unaccustomed to, because my fireplace had always been large enough to catch any sparks that missed.

"If you strike like this," and he made the fifteen degree angle I had been using, "it'll just bounce off the knife and into the middle of nowhere, which doesn't help."

I nodded.

"But if you do this," he said, doing it properly, "it'll work."

He hit it and the knife made a grating sound, the sparks coincidentally landing in the tinder, lighting it and provoking the first baby curls of smoke, which quickly started consuming the entire bundle before it was all afire.

"Shoot!" said Hiccup, who reached for the twigs hastily. A little too hastily, for most of them got pushed over the rock, ironically reminding me of the day's earlier incident.

He scrambled around but I stopped him, gently feeding the tiny flames their food. I wasn't completely clueless like he seemed to think. At least he wasn't a mini Snotlout, bragging about how he'd saved me from frost and starvation.

Now the fire flickered. Hiccup blew gently, almost imperceptibly if not for the bulging of his cheeks. It flared back to life, red in it's fiery revival, almost blowing away despite the gentlest breeze.

I brought in some of the rotting debris from the log and carefully, not wanting to brush off the precious flames, put it on. The effect was immediate. The flames immediately dimmed and threw up a small tuft of smoke. Just as I was beginning to worry, it flared back again like normal.

I was thinking, and so was Hiccup. We both knew that if we couldn't feed this to the fire, than what hope was there of feeding it the larger branches without smothering it.

Hiccup slid a hand up to his chin.

"Hmm."

We both stared at the problem a little longer, only moving to give twigs to the fire when it consumed the ones it had.

Finally Hiccup shouted, just like earlier that day.

"Aha!"

"What's aha?"

"Heat. We can use the fire's heat to dry out the rot before it smothers it with all the moisture."

I saw where his excitement was coming from. I grabbed a bit of rot out of the pile and placed it next to the fire, but not on it. Soon it started to feel less moist to the touch, and I judged that it was ready and I fed the once wet stuff to the fire, consciously and unconsciously holding my breath to see whether it would work.

It fed on the new stuff quickly, forcing Hiccup to feed it his pile. Unable to resist the urge to experiment, I placed some undried rot directly into the middle of the flames. They sputtered a little, but held. The tension in my muscles loosened, for I felt I had made a great accomplishment, no matter how small it may have seemed to anyone else.

Soon we had graduated to other things. The fire had nearly burned through the branches by now, and several sparks were busy priming the fuel below as the smoke soared into the air, smoke which would hopefully attract human attention.

" Hey Astrid, I could use a little help over here." said Hiccup from somewhere on my right. I had been so distracted by the warmth that I hadn't noticed he'd slipped away and was trying to pull up the dead tree stump all by himself.

I got up and came to his aid, gripping the root stem underneath the large stump and attempting to pull it free.

Thankfully the freeze had either exploded the trees roots or they had snapped, granting Hiccup and I a welcome victory.

As we split the log up and fed it to our camp fire, I remember feeling that if you gave me some food and an axe, I could take on the world. Me and Hiccup had survived our first day, and done well.

Sometime during the evening, for the sky was turning blue, I heard Hiccup get up. A minute later he returned with some pine fronds we could use for beds, which I certainly wasn't refusing. As for blankets, I gave him back his coat, which he was happy for.

"Hiccup," I said sleepily, "shouldn't we get some more for the fire?"

"We've got enough." he said, equally as sleepily, then added, "I'll put on some more wood. Ought to be easy enough."

True to his word he chunked another piece of the stump onto the fire, sending up a shower of bright orange sparks. I fell asleep to the crackling of a happy fire, and the slight breath of the wind moving over the snow.

And as I pulled some pine boughs over me, I thought of the very unlikeliness of our survival and relished it.

 **A/N The end of Chapter 8! I truly feel happy about this ending, as it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, especially when I'm listening to the pet soundtrack I recommended on top.**

 **4.8k words on this one. I finished this Friday but you won't see it until Saturday, just for the reasons that I think it get better views then.**

 **It's not my fault that I just watched Star Wars! Maybe it is, but.. Ignore that!**


	9. Chapter 9, What We Deserve

**A/N Riddle.**

 **A plane crashed and there was not a single survivor. Who survived?**

 **Written while listening to _We Go Where No One Goes,_ by Jonsi. If you haven't heard this song you have some catching up to do. **

**I'm thinking about doing a Night Fury T/F story. Almost every writer in this domain either attempts or at least considers doing one at some time or another, and I'm no different. Should it be written in the Stranded AU?**

 **Or an HTTYD/ Star Wars Crossover I've been sketching out on paper in my spare time. Both are good possibilities.**

 **I am not bending towards Hicstrid, whatever naysayers might think. If I do write Hicstrid it'll be off paper and indirectly mentioned. Maybe even in another AU.**

 **I've also been taking a page out of J.R.R Tolkien's book. Pro tip, when you're writing, every 'it' is a missed opportunity. Show, don't tell.**

 **Spoor. A scent trail or heavily frequented path.**

 **Language (Astrid's fault, not mine)**

 **Beta'd by harrypanther.**

I opened my eyes and shivered. For a moment I thought I was back at home, under the covers, but the smell of fresh pine needles cleared my illusion. Still my cold brain struggled to shake off the fantasy, and for a moment I even thought I heard the sounds of the village.

All to no avail, as I looked up and saw no roof but the cloudy night sky, glowing with a slight tinge of blue from the reflection of the sea. We were not even close to the daylight hours yet, but I could see our camp through the shadows anyway, surrounded by the rocks.

I blinked back a few sleepy tears and looked around. Everything looked normal.

There was something missing though, and I didn't know what. The fire was still smoldering, though it was in glowing embers and had no flame.

I looked around once, twice, but couldn't see anything wrong. Then I realized that it was Hiccup, or rather his absence, which was making me uneasy, as the makeshift bed was empty, and looked like it had been for some time, for the outer fronds were starting to freeze over the rocky ledge he'd been sleeping on. The wind had covered our mess from the previous night, and the snow had blown into our tracks and all empty spaces except for a small circle around the fire, covering everything in a powdery white.

Only a few footprints remained, and those were the ones leading from his bed to the forest outside, but there were none coming back. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

If he was gone he was gone, but surprisingly he'd taken his coat with him, so this was more than just a small trip to tinkle.

My inner clock, you might say, had woken me up around the time I usually do, in the summer, so I was sharp and alert. I reached for my axe out of pure habit, and met nothing but snow, which confused me for a second until my rational mind took over. Not having my axe was unfamiliar and it threw me off.

Come to think of it, I hadn't seen my dagger either, and I was sure I'd had it when I fell asleep. He must be hunting then, which I still don't trust him to do. Typical.

I looked over the footprints again. Hiccup had clearly awoken only a short time ago, from what his prints told me. He'd sat up for a minute or two, probably to think, judging from an indentation on the branches. He'd visited the wood pile, that I could make out, but only dimly in the shortage of light, probably feeding the fire. Then his tracks revealed that he'd stood and looked at the blaze for some time, for they had stopped in one place and then swung towards the entrance.

Before he left he had stopped for the knife, at least that's what I assumed, though there weren't any tracks to make me think that that had happened, or perhaps he'd taken it earlier, and the prints had been blown away in the night by crosswinds. This and more I saw, though I couldn't take it all without moving my head.

If there's one thing I hate it's doing nothing, and that won't change just because I've gotten stranded on a deserted island. Now not so deserted, thanks to us.

I sat up, careful not to put my hands down to avoid getting them dipped in the snow again, and stretched my legs briefly before standing and cleaning my eyes of the pebbles that had formed overnight.

The fire seemed fine for the moment, but I wasn't about to go on another roller coaster ride trying to light it, especially when I couldn't find the tinder anywhere, so I wasn't going to take any chances.

I grabbed a piece of wood that used to be part of the stump, stoked the fire with a stick in my other hand, and threw it in. The embers responded with crackling and popping noises as ice in the cracks of the wood evaporated and blew up like popcorn. Tending the hearth was and has never been my favorite thing to do, but as with all women, I was skilled in it, and soon I had a moderate blaze that I likely wouldn't need to feed for the rest of the morning.

I looked over at our wood pile, which was _still_ faring better than us (there was a sprinkle of fresh snow on top of it's covering, some of which was on me), and noticed that I'd used enough to warrant scouting for more.

Hiccup hadn't gotten back yet either, which wasn't helping my nerves. I decided that I'd get some more wood and then go find him.

Before I did that I decided to take a moment to stretch and inhale the fresh night air. I touched my toes ten times and would've done push ups in the absence of something to practice with, but again, the snow. I looked down for a second to catch my breath and said to myself.

"Screw it, I'm doing this."

I got down and went for the record.

Fifty strokes later and I was sweating all over and striving to catch my breath. Deeming this a proper warm-up, I trudged out of the cove that was our home and was immediately hit by a strong gust, a gust the likes of which we had been protected from in our little camp. The sky seemed a little less dark now and the dark blue reflected by the clouds started to take on a little more grey in it's hue.

I took a left. Sometimes I turned half way and looked behind me. My tracks didn't go very far back, the going was hard in this forest of clumped trees and thorns that would poke you just the wrong way, even if they were dead.

Even as I thought this another bush prodded me with its long appendages. Case in point. I resisted the urge to crush the offending bramble, to tear out it's life force, but that would make too much noise, so I continued to half-meander, half-follow the tracks that marked where he had tread.

I chanced to look to the right and saw that a young sapling had snapped under the snow's weight and looked burnable, if I could but brush off the snow. It would be easy to carry even for the boy, but I had not seen any sign that he was out for wood, confirming my suspicions that he was out for game.

I twisted the trunk, separating it from it's roots, and carried it back, walking to the side of Hiccup's tracks so I wouldn't step on them, though he seemed to have found a good run.

The path he'd chosen threaded through several patches of wintering bushes and was too tight to carry the wood side ways, like I'd prefer to. Instead I had to carry it upright, which meant that the splinters dug into my hands and itched painfully.

The wreckage of what remained I tossed up on the wood pile, though not in a random manner. Instead, I put the bushy end on the low side of the stack, leveling it so future logs wouldn't roll off.

Returning to Hiccup's old spoor, I quieted myself, so as not to scare off anything he might catch, if he even got close to any possible game, which I didn't trust him to do either.

Once I'd gotten to my previous point, I started to keep an eye on the trail, splitting my attention between it and my surroundings, well aware that I was defenseless other than my fists, to any dragon that might come my way and try to eat me. But so was Hiccup.

When I came to a frozen brook I noticed a few rocks around the edge of the bank. I spent a little time breaking off frozen stones and looking for one that would fit my hand, so at least I would have something to use as a weapon if trouble should arise.

I found one that was round and was just the right weight for me to use. I stepped over the thin stream of water and retraced my footsteps.

There was a small valley which Hiccup had avoided, (good for him), for in it's rut were wolf tracks. I steeled myself. We were not alone.

The path came to a meadow, which Hiccup had skirted around until (I checked the breeze) he was downwind of it, where he had crept up to the edge and waited from the looks of it, for his knee prints were clearly visible in the snow.

There was a large rock sticking out of the snow in the middle of the snow that dragons would likely use to sun themselves, if there were any around here, as there were not many trees to block the sun's light for about fifty yards.

It wasn't exactly round per say, it rather looked like a stick with an apple on top, round at the head but having a protrusion, which is why some of the trees were missing.

Hiccup's tracks went into the middle of the clearing, and it took an experienced observer to see why. A rabbit's trail crossed the center of the meadow, next to the rock, and where his course intersected the rabbit's, the rabbit had started running. A touch of light brown and white hair was sprinkled over the grass. It had been a close shave, literally.

I didn't know he was such a good shot, but I couldn't help but think that he might have lost the dagger like that. Hiccup's tracks led to a large cedar tree, but I couldn't find any trace anywhere until I looked at the trunk. There was a gash where something pointed and sharp had smashed into the bark, but no trace of my knife. I half-smiled, thankful that he'd gotten it back.

I headed acrosst from where I had last seen his prints, thinking that he would have circled around. I was right. When prey is attacked but doesn't die quickly or gets away from the hunter, I knew there would be consequences, for this rabbit would warn all the other rabbits until they would all would hide in their holes and not come out for the rest of the morning. Its squeal would also attract predators, who would spoil the game.

Soon Hiccup's tracks stopped going in a straight line and started meandering like a wild animal's after a while, and soon I found the reason why. Several rabbit prints mingled with his, and it looked almost like he had been crawling on all fours.

As I looked up habitually to watch for danger, I caught a red splotch at the edge of my vision. Hiccup's trail led straight to it, and there was warm blood all over the ground, but whatever it was hadn't been killed immediately, as the blood was wiped all over the place.

His knife had flown true, a much better performance then I'd expected. You learn something every day.

Hiccup hadn't skinned it, but he had ripped open the stomach to let it air, as there was a little spare intestine hanging on a drooping branch from what I could see.

His tracks went on after that, though they were inconsistent, as if he was sick. He probably was, from what I'd guessed. He'd turned around to head home, and I did too, following him all the way. When I reached the marker I'd set for myself I saw a bush that looked… off. His tracks led straight to it. I would of laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious.

There I found Hiccup passed out, with an outstretched hand holding a dead rabbit. My knife had been wiped off and was now back in his vest's extra holder. Perk of being the chief's son, he gets an area for all his stuff.

I shook his head to try and wake him up, a head which was quickly becoming illuminated by the light of the sun coming over the horizon in a half circle, shining through the woods like a great beacon, a light in the darkness.

Still unable to awake him, I cast my gaze to the East, enjoying the sunrise which was now glimmering on the horizon, knowing that in time the glowing orb would disappear into the blue clouds, that the rest of the day would be grey and dreary, if not crisp with snow.

But for now, the sky glowed purple and pink, and soon yellow, all the colors of a rainbow, which I had witnessed many times before exactly like it was now, only this time it was strangely magnificent to the eye. A pity it couldn't last forever, for it's light was warming me, if only a little.

Soon the sun rose and was swallowed by the haze, a spectacle gone, turned into a barely visible white ball, surrounded by a halo of turbid, milky gray mists that moved, ever changing, across its surface.

I looked down and decided that if Hiccup wasn't going to move, I'd have to drag him back, no questions asked. He looked alright, if being face flat on the snow was alright. He was cold, for his face was pale as the moon, not like it usually wasn't, but even more so than usual.

I pulled him up by the shoulder, taking the unsheathed blade away from his belt, so that he wouldn't cut himself in his sleep. The rabbit I fiddled around with a while, for setting the meat in a spot where it wouldn't fall was hard to do and do right. The blood was thankfully frozen, so I ended up just putting it on Hiccup's chest and damn if it dares to fall off.

The snow at my feet was dry and relatively thin for this time of year, but ahead of me lay almost half a mile of travel in windblown drifts, piled up on the edges of a crevice cut shallowly in the rocks by an unknown hand, and probably the den of a few wolves. Hopefully they weren't hungry.

I looked down as I reached the valley, I half dreaded the journey, but I reconciled myself against fear and stepped down into the snow. My legs would just have to forget the miles.

It was almost half an hour later that we reached Protection Rock. Hiccup had woken up half way through, and I was grateful he did, for my arms were about to give out. They had been sagging at the time. I should practice more.

He freaked out when he discovered that I was carrying him, and twisted out of my grasp, floundering in the snow like a dog out to play in the mud, only this was cold snow. I wasn't too happy that he'd spilled the rabbit when he'd rolled away and it'd fallen to the ground, but while I was busy fishing it out of the snow he was busy rubbing dirt out of his eyes now that he'd finally sat up, still weak from fainting.

"Please don't kill me!" he said to a tree. I thought that was pretty funny.

"You were already close to death anyway." I said. "Too cold. I was carrying you back."

"It's nice to know you have my back."

Hiccup had scratched out most of the dirt in his eyes, though the way he rubbed his right socket discreetly told me that he hadn't gotten out all the offending particles, for they had dug into his system, probably when he landed face down, though how he got dirtside I have no idea.

His face was ruddier, though it was probably his blush that got my attention. Now his face contorted in the most weird way.

He stood up and broke through the snow layer with his knees, making him land flat on his face.

"My neck burns." he said. Defrosting always hurt.

"You'll make it."

"Thank you, for your generous encouragement." he said, slipping back into his shell.

He stood up and started walking over the snow. He was graceful for the first few steps, then he tumbled head over heels, tripping himself somehow. I feared in my heart that this would be a long trip, but I couldn't do anything about it, so I slung the frozen game over my shoulder and kept on.

To Hiccup's credit, he picked right back up again, and kept going. It was only that viking determination that kept our walk from being a complete disaster.

Still my fears were appeased, as we made decent going in the white formless world that was our existence.

Hiccup walked to my front, stepping around piled up snow that would have filled his shoes, if they hadn't been made into weights for his feet already. What I would give for a new pair of socks, for mine were wet also, and their heaviness tired me.

But now we're back at home, our new home, and I can't help but think this place is changing me, both inside and out, because everything is different here.

We must honor the old ways, but that doesn't mean that we can't make new paths, for our own good.

And as Hiccup looked over our camp he suddenly decided that he would become an old sage.

"Life is a giant game of choice, because what happens to you is all the result of decisions, whether good or bad."

After that his poetic side shut up and he started rubbing his back on a rock, warming his toes over the fire, letting the water drip and sizzle off his lowered heel as he rested the bones of his body.

The rabbit Hiccup had killed was a large one, ears extending like giant flaps, covered in pink hair and red blood. I held it up by the two rear legs and started to skin it with the dagger, which I took out of my belt where I'd put it.

The spinal cord I cut with one practiced slash, which severed it and loosened the rabbit's head. I began to search for the seam in the collarbone, running the knife along it under the flesh until I felt the sharp part of the blade slip into a chink at the base of the long neck. I pushed down and at the same time gave a flick of the wrist.

There was a pop and the head came completely out, held only by the skin clinging onto the back of the skull. I made an easy line through the hide and set aside the head carefully, for some of the parts might become useful, and it wasn't like it would rot or go bad, not in this weather. It would require protection from scavengers for sure, but it wasn't like it was a big loss.

The rabbit hadn't been properly field dressed by Hiccup, because he didn't know how, so the meat was already hardening and would be more stringy than I'd like. He'd also pierced the skin and the meat at the same time, potentially introducing parasites to our food.

I sighed. That boy and his… hiccups. I couldn't do anything about that now except be caring and gentle with the meat.

I pierced one of the back legs just below what would be a rabbit's knee, intending to hang it up, but at the same time I noticed that I needed to use the point instead of the flat to cut through the skin. The knife was not at the point of being dull to the touch, no, but I'd need to sharpen the left edge soon. The right one was fine, and I used that for the rest of the skinning.

There were no trees in camp so I took a stick and hung the animal up that way, neck down so it would drain faster. Nothing happened. I was puzzled.

"The blood's frozen." Hiccup answered another unspoken question. "Put it by the fire, then skin it. They're such small animals the blood will run out when you're preparing it if you ask me." No one asked him, but it was good advice.

The place where I hung up the rabbit was relatively out of the way, so I had to step in a snow drift when I took it down.

Hiccup had taken all the blown leaves on the ground and swept them into the fire while I'd beheaded our game, and the forest floor had dried in that time, so I laid the rabbit on its back and began to work the knife with skill, starting at the slash he'd made in the belly to prevent the intestines from gassing and ruining the meat. Not without washing my hands in clean snow first.

I lopped off all four feet at the ankle, bending them forward to get at the knuckle of the thing, where the fluids first began to ooze out as my fingers tingled from the warmth of the fire. I didn't need them and we weren't going to make glue any time soon, so I threw them into the new refuse pile on my left, intending to bury them when I got the chance so as not to attract attention.

"What if we took the fur and made a pillow out of this stuff." Hiccup mumbled under his breath, obviously talking about the fur. "I could stitch it together with bone shards. Maybe that'll work. Or I could make something to carry water with. A satchel?"

His hand went straight to his chin in his standard thinking pose and stayed there. I snapped back to my work, distracted for too long.

I cut through the fur at the legs, paying no heed to the chunks of frozen.. something that came out. Hiccup looked away from the scene, too squeamish to be of any help to me. Well, he wasn't completely useless.

"Can you build up the fire so I can cook this? That'd help."

"No problem. But could you not make it so bloody when you skin things? Blood, not a big fan."

"We're vikings, it's an occupational hazard. Are you helping or not?"

"Using my fathers words against me. I'll do it."

I smiled and returned to my work.

Soon I'd taken the fur off the forelegs too, and in only a moment the majority of the cuttage was sitting on the former skin of the animal, and I was ready to do the insides.

Hiccup had already made a small incision into the stomach area, so I didn't need to bother with that, though I was still annoyed with him over his clumsiness.

The small intestine I pulled out and laid on the fur, bunched up to conserve space. I wasn't picky about my eating habits. I cut it open and emptied the middle of its contents.

The large intestine, on the other hand, I cut out completely and put in the refuse pile, for it was filled with pellets that I didn't want to spend time cleaning out for no guarantees. Because it was attached to the gall bladder I moved very carefully around it, for anything the bile touched would become inedible, and I didn't want to puncture the sac that contained the digestive juices.

The stomach was an entirely new can of beans. It had only weak acid in it compared to other animal's, but I still didn't trust it, and it smelled rather disgusting too, though I'd done this kind of thing before, I'd never got used to it, yet.

Refuse.

That finished with the digestive tract, which needed to be removed first, lest a wayward cut puncture it and turn our food into a steaming mess.

The powerful hamstrings which had formerly propelled the rabbit to lightning speeds now served a totally different purpose, and were placed with the cleaned intestines.

The rest of the meat I carved and placed there as well. When I was done I was running out of space and there were only the bones and organs left, which made me wish we had a pot. We could eat the marrow over the fire when push came to shove if we needed to.

The thought of a good soup, just faintly salted with some good oils and filled with choice vegetables and meats excited my tongue and set my saliva flowing, though it had been for some time now as I took the thin white sticks and set them aside with pleasure.

The vital meats were in a thin transparent membrane that covered the ribs, holding them in and stopping the heart from tearing itself apart when the rabbit made a dash. The arteries were now drained like Hiccup had predicted, and they looked like a deflated balloon. I removed the heart and cut out its muscles, letting the cold blood pour out, for even here the biting frost had penetrated.

Meat from the Heart tasted good and Gothi sometimes used it to treat illnesses and help convalescents heal. She said that it was good for the skin, to keep it moist.

The liver and the other things I sorted according to preference, generally trying to keep as much as possible, though I looked over the liver for bad spots. If there was a serious disease in the animal I wanted to know. There weren't any, so I kept going.

The lungs had nothing in them but ruptured vessels and air inside them, so I left them alone.

The bladder looked empty, but I pinched it off anyway, wiping my hands off on the snow as a precaution.

The kidneys I didn't take, though it was some people's habit to eat them, I was not one of those people.

Some of the fat on the animal, for it was not yet deep winter, I would let Hiccup use to tan the skin. As for the rest, I would use it to prevent 'rabbit sickness', which usually set on when a viking forgot to take the oils with the meat. Those who suffered from it were weak and fitful to violent spasms of their large muscles, such as those in the arms and legs. Good fats would cure it within a day or so, though I withheld them from Snotlout once, but that's another story.

I took the stick I had dangled the rabbit from and barked it smooth, and while I was flicking off the rot I noticed Hiccup putting two Y shaped branches on the charcoaling flames.

"I need those." I said, before it was too late.

He gave them over easily enough, and made an O shape with his mouth when he saw what I needed them for, even if no sound came out.

I tried to shove one into the dirt, but the ground was too hard, so they didn't go in. I pushed harder, until the base started to bend, and I gave up. I'd have to look at this from a new angle. Fortunately, I knew someone who was at his best when doing just that.

"Do you know how to push these in?" I asked him.

Hiccup shrugged and began to look at the problem. Who would be surprised if his hand went to his chin. There it goes. Told you.

"Can I have the dagger."

"Don't put in the dirt." I almost growled at him. "That's good steel." I dried it off on my shirt, just to make the point.

"Well it's not like I needed it anyway."

He got up and started to pace around the fire. He looked down a few times, and once even kicked it to test it's firmness. Needless to say, it didn't work, though he didn't go hopping off on one foot like Ruffnut did once.

He looked up after a minute, then started to dip the sticks in the snow, coating them in the powder. I pretended not to notice what he was doing and looked at the rabbit carcass, but soon I couldn't resist the urge to see what crazy idea he was having.

When he pushed the bottom of one branch into the softer dirt inside the ring of the fire pit, everything clicked.

"Aha. I thought so."

He puffed his chest up in fake pride, though he couldn't disguise the bounce in his step that he was prone to every time he made an invention.

He tried to put in the other stick, but the place acrosst from the first pole was burning with heat, so he had to come over and reposition that one so that a straight stick would go directly over the fire.

In plain Norse, he forgot to do a few checks.

Soon his catch was being roasted on the sticks, spinning around whenever he wished, though some of the bark from the poles would occasionally hop onto the meat with a mind of it's own, and I'd have to flick it off, which I didn't mind.

The skin I was busy rinsing with cold water to make it malleable. If I wanted to tan it I might as well do it now, before the layers became stiff and unworkable to all but the most skilled fingers.

"Good idea. I could use some new socks." said Hiccup.

"You appear to have a stuttering problem. You meant that 'I' could use some new socks. I'm the one who rescued you and kept you from dying in the cold after all."

"But I'm the one who fell in the snow!" he pleaded.

"That's your fault."

It's nice to have human company sometimes, even though they can be annoying. You never know how much you need to talk with people, to spend the time with, until they're gone.

I took the last piece of the log from last night and stretched the pelt over the top, then took some of the oil from the rabbit and rubbed it all over. By the time I was done the rabbit was ready, the juices dripping in the fire, a pity if you ask me, because that means it's dried out.

We ate dinner ravenously, though I saved a nibble or two from my portion for supper, as there was no other food left, Hiccup having consumed his serving, and no assurance that we'd snare more later.

After that we went hunting, going a different way this time so as to find fresh game that had not been alerted to our presence.

Our path took us above camp by almost a hundred feet, until we were at the base of a large hill that must have been as tall as fifty Hiccups, ascending at a steep slope.

Hiccup looked at me questioningly. I nodded. We could take it.

"At least we should see the rest of the island." I said.

Our climb was not easy. There were rocks to trip on and holes to fall into, but we didn't have any trouble getting up, so long as we were careful. Once the ground moved beneath my feet, and I had to jump to the side as several rocks came loose, almost hitting me. The soil here was unstable, even frozen beneath the snow.

When we were on top though, we could see the entirety of the island, or at least most of it.

From where we were standing I could see that we had landed close to the westernmost point, that I could see without turning, for our road had turned our steps north, and we could see the island end to end. I figured that it was about twice as long as wide, with a bay on the east side, opposite where we lived.

It had to be only a mile and a half wide at most, though that was only at a cape that jutted out from the mainland on both sides. It looked like a sword, and we were perched on the hilt.

Hiccup had the same idea.

"Sword island. That's what we'll call it. Sword island." I said.

"Hmmm." said Hiccup, rolling it around on his tongue. "It works."

He sat down on a hummock that had had all the snow blown off, for the top of the hill was battered by ocean winds coming off the current, and I could almost taste the salt on my tongue.

I looked over our island, Sword island now, with an eye for more detail. The southern edge was rocky and inhospitable, for doubtless it had been battered by the waves, all the soft parts eroded and muddied, until only the hardest stuff was left.

The northern side was the complete opposite. Instead of rocks, there were beaches. Instead of crashing seas, the waves lapped at the shore like docile animals. Down the middle of the 'blade' there was only forest, broken by small, isolated dales and meadows, and a few more isolated rises like this one, though the land waved and rolled almost like a purring cat. In general it was cold, hilly, and inhospitable. Perfect.

I'm starting to think that Hiccup's sarcasm is rubbing off on me.

We had turned to start the long journey down when Hiccup tripped over a brown rock that was protruding from the ground.

I let him pull himself up but when I skidded down the hill, he was not following.

"It's time to go!" I yelled back at him, but he either didn't hear me over the wind or he was ignoring me, I don't know which one.

He had his hand to his chin, and he was looking down at the thing that had tripped him. I groaned and walked back up, not without skidding down some, twice actually, and almost ripping my skirt.

"I think you might want to see this." he said when I made it up.

I looked down where he was looking.

"It's just a rock."

"It's not just any rock. It's an _iron_ rock. Do you know what we could do with this?"

"Maybe. Just don't get too excited. We don't have the equipment to make anything with it yet." I spurned it with my foot.

"Yet."

I groaned again, but secretly I was delighted. We could make some tools, a spit for cooking food, a pot, some utensils, maybe even a new axe.

With any luck, things would get better, and maybe, just maybe, things would go according to plan. The walk back had no incidents, but thanks to the food I'd had earlier, and Hiccup's revelation, I felt much better, and the miles, which had before felt so heavy, now felt lighter along with my heart. While we were on the home stretch I even went out of my way to look for branches, not for firewood, but for shelter. Even I felt the call to celebrate, and for supper we ate the meat that I had saved together, talking about the future. The future. What had once seemed so bleak now seemed bright and dripping with possibilities.

That week passed like a dream, and it all seemed so idyllic when I look back on it. What happened after that.. well, you'll just have to wait and see.

 **A/N So, things are looking up, thanks to Hiccup's skills and ingenuity, and a whole lotta luck, though the.. interesting ending might tickle your toes. The last five hundred words are not up to par, I know, but what can you say, I was tired and a bit busy, so that explained the staccato.**

 **Also, six thousand words this chapter. That's a new record. See you on Thursday.**


	10. Chapter 10 Sick to Her Stomach

**A/N**

 **I just discovered a new great musician! Written while listening to Montee – Bomberman on loop for only five million years. Also _I Lived_ by One Republic, and a few of their other good tracks.**

 **Here we go. Reviews would be appreciated, especially what you think about my new vocabulary.**

 **Today's quote.**

" **That's because droids don't rip your arms out of their sockets when they lose."** **Classic.**

 **-?**

 **Chapter eight's riddle has not been solved yet, nor chapter one's, though it's more like a guessing game that one. I think most would already have known who wrote it.**

 **I've increased the length of the paragraphs,** **which does help me compartmentalize my thoughts** **.** **Also,** **I'm going to be doing a world of tanks story called spark. Don't worry, it only borrows the WoT name, it's still gonna be me.** **I'** **m also going to change the rating to T for violence and bloodshed.**

 **ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignsHisCommentsWithA. Close, but no beans.**

 **Before they were all over the place.** **Hopefully beta'd by harrypanther.**

* * *

Ocean opened her eyes and groaned. Her body, especially the right half, felt like someone had pushed hundreds of tiny needles into it and was busy putting in more with a hammer. She was on her back, staring up at the sky, which seemed to have tiny stars flashing through the clouds, in fact, every so often her vision would flash with flares of blinding white light, which made her eyes feel sore and strained, though when she closed them the lights didn't go away, as they should if they were real.

Even breathing felt painful, and she would be lucky if she escaped with only one broken rib. She tried to roll over to get in a more comfortable and less vulnerable position, but her right wing was bent at a bizarre angle, probably broken, and she didn't have enough strength in her left to hold her body weight. At least she wasn't bleeding too badly.

Even if she had had the strength, she would might have given up from the pain, if not from a lack of air, for every intake of it felt shallow, and her breaths came fast and hurt hard, impossible to explain other than to say she felt like every movement was tearing her apart. Ocean looked over at the snow covered ground and groaned in pain, though her groan was cut short also, and ended in more of a high-pitched squeak. Thankfully her neck wasn't dislocated or, Gods forbid, broken. She thanked her ancestors for her miraculous survival and attempted to take stock of the situation through the fog of her pain and shock.

She must have sprained the joint of her neck when she hit the ground, she realized. At least it hadn't broken or dislocated. Her right side had taken most of the hit, so at least her left was mostly fine, for separate from a few shooting pains in the bone, it was alright. The tail bone felt sore when she tried to move it, and most of her spines were broken. She wouldn't be throwing them around for a while, not far. She certainly wouldn't be making dead shots for a long time. That was the best news she'd had all morning, evening, whatever time it was.

Her legs were another matter. She dimly remembered trying to desperately use them to curb her fall but it obviously hadn't worked. Her left foot hung limply from the ankle, using it would be futile, and her right knee, if dragons had one, was stuck at the tendon and refused to turn properly. All in all, Ocean was in very bad shape, for the wind chill would doubtless kill her, if not tonight, then perhaps tomorrow unless she could find her legs and catch some food.

She would die slowly from starvation and hypothermia, gradually turning into dust until even her bones were unrecognizable, a monument to the power of the elements. She shook her head to clear it of the vision. Now was not the time to think about such things.

First things first, she needed to get up. Using the advantage of her shock to curb the pain, she braced herself against the ground and pushed with her left wing, while simultaneously overbalancing her legs to her right. Slowly but surely, she twisted over and onto her side. The pain had bite and it hurt like hell, but she was on her feet. There, she was standing. That was step one out of the way.

Now to catch some food, any food, and get out of this wind, find a cave or something and hole up until Stulte could find her. That was a plan, and though it was simple, it was better than nothing. Now to start moving, a tricky business, what with her legs sprained and breathing making her tear up so that she never had enough air to move without becoming constantly winded.

Her tongue licked the air, smelling it for possible prey and possible threats, or perhaps even Stulte, coming to save her heroically, though part of her mind doubted that that would happen, at least not the way she envisioned it, swooping out of the sky in a graceful dive and offering her his claw. At least he had had the supplies and knew how to use them. Oh wait.

Darn it! He had all their things with him, didn't he. She could really use a splint right now, she wished. Not for the last time. She bumped into a tree with her chin, sending a pointed shockwave through her body, though it didn't reach her wings. She felt the urge to claw into the stupid plant, but she couldn't in her hurt state. Ocean ended up just leaning on it, regaining her wind.

She closed her eyes and savored in the short rest, which she knew couldn't last forever, yet she felt the compelling urge to give up, lie down, and sleep. It would be too easy, she knew, a trap that most likely she would never wake up from. She needed to keep moving or she would perish. Still, she could smell no threats on the wind, and only a faint tinge of blood, which smelled like a rabbit's, though she couldn't be sure. It was like the little animals were born to die.

There was no scent of human, but she was still careful, just in case all the old tales were true. After all, an animal had just died, but the call of a hawk soaring high above her in the Big Is assuaged her fears. Hopefully she would be able to join that magnificent bird in its flight again one day, but she was getting ahead of herself.

A great horned owl was perched in a hole in a tree, it's feathers ruffling in the wind while it gave her that sleepily smug look that Carr was famous for, assured of its safety. It was young, but it didn't lack in size and the only way Ocean had been able to tell it's age was from the color of it's down feathers, which were brown and not grey. Aside from her, that was probably, though not provably, the largest predator in miles if her nose hadn't failed to smell something.

Ocean stopped slouching on the trunk of the winterizing oak and began to drift through the forest, her mind half present and not quite half somewhere else, as if wandering in her own, mental, lands. Dragging her left foot along, and hobbling all the way, it felt like she was getting nowhere.

The soft snow was a help and a hindrance, as it numbed the pain and cleaned her wounds, but it also hid within it's powdery masses nasty surprises like crevices to stumble on and sharp flints to cut her feet raw. Still she made some progress, as the ground was steadily rising, and the mixed oak and beech trees had turned to almost pure stands of cembral swiss stone pine, a sign that she had climbed a fair amount. How much, she had no idea.

She passed by a small gap in the forest filled with stones and a few boulders that were propping up a great grey slab that arched back to a place she could not see. She sighed, hoping that it was empty, for that sort of area attracted herbivores of their type, and she'd hoped to catch one. However, there might be a chance that there was a cave in it, and taking this chance, she stepped into the clearing, hoping to at least find some small hole to take shelter in and hopefully have a rest to heal her shattered bones.

Ocean saw nothing to indicate there might be a hollow space there from the front, so she walked around the pile with patient steps, for by now she had learned not to be hasty, finding no purchase against the granite construct. Just out of curiosity she tapped on the back. It had a deep, hollow sound, but the resonance faded away too quickly for her to be convinced, so she tapped again, and this time there was no mistake. There was a space in there, so Ocean decided to risk another search, patiently favoring her left leg. The crick in her neck had just about faded away, so looking around was not a problem.

She tripped over her defunct foot and fell head first onto the snow, filling her eyes with the white water. Ocean shook her head to clear her sight, noticing for the first time a dark hole in the rock pile, just large enough for a dragon to squeeze through if one folded its wings and crouched as low as it could go. She stood up, much more easily now that she wasn't on her back, and tried to push herself in. Her head and shoulders fit, but her wings bumped against the granite, and that pricked. She had to quell the instinct to jump when she pulled her wings against her side and tried again. They slid through the frosted opening easily, and the rest was a piece of cake.

It was damp inside, but not cold, and the air had a lived in feel. There were a couple stones lying on the ground, where they were sure to irritate anyone who dared lay upon them, but Ocean thought that with a little work the place could become pleasant and perhaps even homey. No trace of occupation marred the floors and no scent lingered there unless it was her own. It looked like she was here to stay. At once sleep overcame her and she cast her broken body against the stones, not even bothering to move them out of the way, closing her eyes and forgetting all her troubles for a time, if only a little while.

She slept in a state of partial awareness, as all animals do, so that any out of the way occurrence would wake her. Sometime during her sleep the wind died down. She sensed this dimly. Ocean awoke sometime in the night, for she must have crashed in the afternoon, and rolled her wings slowly in an opposing circle. She felt needles in her wing again, and her legs were so sore that it almost hurt to move them. What she would give for a splint! But it was not just that which had brought her out of fitful sleep. She heard the crunching of snow by an animal very close by, and it's scent was like rabbit. Better yet, it had not smelt her because of the wind direction, and from the smell it seemed to be just out of the door. She picked herself up quickly and began to advance, heavy (and limp) paws stepping in just the right places so as not to slip and attract attention.

But then Ocean picked up the irony must of blood, and she realized that along with the scent of dying prey was another, less strong smell, which she just couldn't pin down to any single animal. She waited, knowing that any move upon her part might cause an attack on the unknown animals part. Was it a cougar or bobcat perhaps. In her state they would be more than a match for her battered body. A snipping sound rang through the air, like someone was attempting to use a viking pair of scissors. She lowered her head and peeked out carefully. Directly in front of her was a young owl, probably the same one she had seen earlier, and beneath it was its catch, a yearling coney.

The bird had probably caught its prey, which was now laying lifeless on the ground in a shapeless heap, somewhere in the woods, and then in foolish youth had decided to eat its catch on the ground here, as evidenced by the soft thump that had woken her up, now that she thought back to it. If only she could steal the coney to eat, then perhaps it would take the edge off her hunger.

Normally dragons hibernated during the winter, and Ocean had almost been afraid to go to sleep, but all the flying had taken the fat off of her, and her body wasn't ready to start yet. She wondered if she'd ever get the chance. Well, this would be a start. She made ready to lunge. The owl tried to intimidate her by growling, but it came out more as a squeak. As Ocean began to slide all of her body out of the cave, the young bird saw just what it was dealing with. It tried to run and take its prey with it, planting it's talons firmly in rabbit flesh, but she was too quick, for even in her injured state she was able to catch up to the unfortunate hooter, snapping her jaws and taking the coney right from it. In the process she pulled the bird to the ground and stunned it, and if she had been a mite more blood thirsty its life would have ended then and there. Instead she tromped painfully back to her cave, and the confused bird flew away, shrieking like a banshee.

Ocean settled down and devoured her catch, relishing in the almost heavenly taste, and eating like one who has never eaten. She didn't bother with tearing off the skin even, and within two bites the rabbit was gone, filling and not filling. At least it took the edge off of her hunger and would keep her until the next day. Unlike humans, who would gladly take their time cutting up a good animal and roasting it for no good reason, dragons were different and more, sensible. They didn't waste their time, they didn't waste their food, and they could eat faster. She scoffed at the thought. Most two-leggeds would ruin their food over a fire, or get rid of the head, which was the tastiest part because of the tongue, at least in her opinion. Amused at her own thoughts, she fell to sleep once again, a deeper sleep this time, and happily slumbered until the next morning.

When Ocean opened her eyes sometime in the morning, she was disoriented, almost thinking she was at home with Nayla tugging on her wing like she always did, for the sore tug in her left wing was confusing her brain. She basked in the comfort for a minute, wanting to sleep in, but eventually the pain on her right side woke her up for good. She took a good long look around, only half remembering where she was.

Ah, there was the corner she'd curled up in during the night to conserve her warmth. And there was a patch of something brown and dusty, yet stuck on. That must have been rabbit blood. Already this place was starting to feel like home. She moved a few rocks out of the way with her tail, for they had been disturbing her sleep. With a little moss this place could become comfortable. But first, she looked like a mess, and the innate Nadder vanity called to her. She spent almost an hour rubbing herself in clean snow, straightening her spines and getting off dirt. She even found a branch low enough to brush her teeth on until they were shining pearly white.

With that done she was ready to move out, though she had her doubts about her limp foot, which she still couldn't move. Her hunger had only been partially satiated last night, and she didn't want to fall behind the curve, knowing that once she was too weak, death was certain to collect it's dues. She accepted her fate and roamed off into the woods in a random direction, any direction, though she always kept track of landmarks, just in case she got lost.

Before she left the clearing she marked all the trees with a special blaze, a hieroglyph that was supposed to be a rock and the sunset, though drawing left handed was not her specialty, and not being ambidextrous, the resulting chicken scratch was barely intelligible except as a dragons claw writing. Hopefully if Stulte came around while she was gone he'd see the markings and stick around in the hope of finding her.

Five hundred yards out she discovered an old rabbit trail that led east to west, and she followed it towards the morning sun. It was well worn but still covered in wintering brambles, as rabbits preferred their cover that way. Against a dragon, however, the annoying plants were just that, an annoyance preventing her from being quiet. After the what seemed like the hundredth time of her wings snapping a twig, she folded them up tight and started to walk heel first. It worked, most of the time. Of course she couldn't stop the snow from crunching under her feet, but by working around the bush while loosely following the trail, she made some progress.

She passed a large boulder shaped like a giant claw and put that down to memory. It looked rather funny, sticking up out of the snow as it was, and suddenly she felt the urge to polish it with some moss. She took a detour and walked around it, taking in the grey appearance of it from all angles. To her disappointment there was a crack on the other side of the 'claw' which made it less pretty than she had at first thought.

It reminded her of her younger days, back when she was a baby tugging at her father's foot and trying to play. Tears came involuntarily to her eyes and for a while she let them come. But there was only so much space for self-pity and so she shook herself off and returned to the hunt, once again stepping on the balls of her feet, for happily she had regained some control over her left foot.

The trail led on for a while before she smelled some fresh prey. It wasn't particularly close and it was off the trail, but Ocean immediately switched into the ultra concentrated state which made Nadders such good daylight hunters. The path she had been following had passed a patch of mosses and a few other winter plants. She turned back and headed to them, testing the air all the while and making sure that no errant wind carried her scent to the prey, which she seemed to be getting closer to, as she smelled another rabbit, this time a doe. When she judged she was close enough she stopped for about thirty seconds, waiting for anything she hadn't seen to burst out into the open. They apparently hadn't heard her, for there was no raising of the alarm and no sign to suggest that they had been alerted to her presence. She continued her stalking in deadly silence.

A mouse squeaked and dove away from her paw, but Ocean paid no heed to it. She was after something more worth her time. There was a place where the rough slate became exposed and a snowbank rose opposite it, with a few bushes growing from the top. Hopefully it would disguise her shape if someone happened to look her way, but that would only work if she stayed absolutely frozen.

Small game animals responded primarily to movement and scent. If she hunted around the mosses carefully enough she might be able to hide herself, and as long as the wind didn't change she didn't think they would smell her, though she wasn't old enough yet to distinguish the different alarm pheromones. She could pick up a few more, older rabbits with the herd now, there seemed to be at least ten of them if she wasn't mistaken.

The rock wall descended into a small gully, which she followed, pausing every ten paces to listen. As it was the valley led away from where she wanted to go, and after a little figuring she realized that if she kept going on this path eventually she would not be able to smell the rabbits, though whether or not they would smell was up for grabs, for her species had extremely sensitive noses, and all that washing off with snow earlier hadn't been without reason, as it had washed off her distinct scent. Frustrated, she turned back, seeking another way up. As it was, she nearly stepped on her prey when she scrambled out of a hole in the wall. Only by tensing instinctively was she able to avoid detection.

One of the rabbits raised its head and deviated from his warren in an effort to get better food that hadn't been trampled yet. Ocean figured that if she rushed, she might be able to catch him, for it was a male, before he ran back down a burrow. She shifted around when the rabbits weren't looking, trying to find the best way through the brambles. She was hungry though, and her impatience cost her.

When her shoulder hit a twig, it snapped and all the rabbits took a step closer to their burrows. Needless to say she was very much vexed, as for the next five minutes they all kept their ears up and only the does at the center dared to take a cautious nibble now and then, their bucks devoted to their safety. After a while, when they thought that the strange noise had been silent for long enough, they went back to feeding, all except the oldest one, an old codger who looked to be almost forty in rabbit years. He went back down his hole. Ocean crouched, legs wound to catch her prey unawares. Her design was to head for one of the bucks on the outer circle, or failing that, would chase the yearling on the outside of the ring, almost a futile endeavor without the crucial advantage of surprise, for the rabbits were speedy on the ground, especially against someone with a wounded leg and foot like her.

To herself she counted down.

"Three."

Not one of the coneys stirred from their positions.

"Two."

One of them hopped provocatively toward it's home, intending to go back down the tunnel.

"One."

Ocean sprang forward, launching her spikes at the same time. They cracked through the air, speeding towards their targets, but the moment they left her tail she knew that they were off, for she felt them detach almost backwards and go wild. The first whistled over the young buck as he scrambled to safety. The others flew away uncontrollably, one pegging a tree, another shattering on a stone, all adding to the rabbits confusion. She swung at the buck, her plan forgotten, but her right leg refused to respond, and she skidded left, seeing out of the corner of her eye that she was about to smack into a tree unless she managed to slow down.

The yearling that she had been coveting tried to move out of the way, but he too lost his footing in the snow, and couldn't get out of the way fast enough. One of the spines in her headdress speared him, and he limped away injured, leaving red streaks on the frigid powder. He would bleed out in a few moments because of the poison, if a heart attack didn't claim him first. Ocean spread her wings and braked with them, barely avoiding the rapidly approaching trunk. She huffed and looked up.

A rapidly freezing trail of rabbit fluids led away from her immediate vision. The other animals had cleared the area, scared of the new predator. She pulled herself up on a log and caught her breath. Her ribs had probably reopened from their short healing spell, and once again it hurt to breath. Her wing was no better, though she saw proudly that it still shone, if it only reflected the shape of grey clouds. First, the hounded rabbit, which was probably dead by now after all the hullabaloo.

She stumbled after it, following the clear trail to hopefully find it and kill it before something else got to the poor animal. It had to be close, and that only made her forced pace more salty as she slid along the path after the clear tracks. Soon the tracks became more forced, the steps closer together and more smudged. The poison had taken it's effect, making the rabbit light-headed and slowly taking it's blood, thinning it to the point where it started to flow into his lungs, as evidenced by the small splatters off the trail where it had coughed it up.

This was the worst part of killing, the blood. Ocean kept her head down and reminded herself that this was necessary in lieu of having any fish to eat. At least fish didn't look like dragons. They didn't have big eyes to torture your soul with, and they didn't have legs to relate with. She would prefer fish to rabbit any day of the week.

She found the rabbit lying down not quite dead, having lost the will to live. It peered up at her and in that universal animal language which is not spoken, asked her to make it quick. She did, but looked away. When it was done her appetite had completely vanished, and she had to remind herself that it was good food before her mind allowed her to eat it, and then only in sparing nibbles that made her sick, for this was no delicious meat that had been killed away from her sight, this was the real deal, and it made a knot in her stomach. When she was finally done she stumbled home, past the claw rock, past many other rabbit tracks that she would have ordinarily chased just for fun, but now she ignored. The Ocean who had woken up that morning was very different from the Ocean who threw herself on the doorstep that night.

It had started to snow, which would at least cover up her trail from any chance humans crazy enough to be out and to find them. Little did she know that someone had already seen them.

* * *

 **Early A/N. If you've read all of My Craft by OnTheCobb, which I thoroughly recommend, you'll know that he had something called an omake, a five hundred word or so extra dealing with other parts of the plot which he hadn't time with to make an official chapter out of. I've decided to include Omakes in my story, and I hope you enjoy the first.**

* * *

 _Omake: The priest's destiny and how his choices may affect the world._

Father Hans looked up from his desk. Someone was rapping on the door hard.

"You may enter in the name of the church." he said.

A young man with sandy yellow hair and weak blue eyes (If you want to know what they look like think Luke Skywalker) walked in and sat down.

"State your business." said Hans, though he already knew what it was.

The man shifted in his seat and began to talk animatedly, as though his hands had a mind of their own.

"It's about dragons. Years ago.."

"Cut to the chase Conan, I've already heard about this part of the story."

The man, now named Conan, frowned but went on.

"These beasts are clearly servants of Satan, and have been terrorizing the local Heathen population. If we were to take fifty knights of the Order of the Holy Temple on ships and rescue them from these demons we would strike a mighty blow against the devil and his entourage."

"But the Norse winter is difficult. The sea will be frozen over and we will not be able to travel. However, I must consider your idea. Perhaps in three years when the new count will come of age and take over from his mother. He has shown signs of favor to exploration and mayhap will fund your venture."

"My father is wealthy and itching for a crusade. He has influence in the court and mayhap they will call another crusade, a northern one."

"All of which they will not do without evidence."

"I am negotiating a deal with one of the Heathen tradesmen, Johann by name. He says mayhap he will be able to procure some dragon scales."

"Trader Johann? That one?"

Conan foolishly nodded.

"Conan, as much as I would like to see you succeed, I must caution you against trusting anything that man says."

Their discussion went on for about fifteen minutes when Conan, seeing that Hans was about to dismiss him, played his trump card.

"I think there is a chance that if we do noble battle against the devils and defeat them than the Norse may convert to Our ways, admiring strength as they do. We could set up a church there..." He trailed off, then asked suggestively, "and you could be pastor."

Father Hans considered for a while. While he was not poor, he was not too successful in the catholic church either, and the opportunity to have his own church, with the privileges and such that came with that position, was just too rich to resist.

"We can consider, but only if Johann manages to procure proof. Of course it will have to be perfectly legal. The spreading of God's will and all that. We will know what is really going on."

"Of course master."

Conan finally smiled and turned to leave.

"What happened here must stay between us you know." said Hans, "We don't want a gossiping peasant to alert our rivals to this until we are chosen to lead the mission, or perhaps even my lackeys. You will have to pay off men Conan, not dim-witted wives."

"I understand."

"You are dismissed." He waved him off.

And after Conan left, he sat and daydreamed for a while about his new-found opportunity. Finally he called for some parchment and began to write.


	11. Surprise!

**A/N More riddles. Written while listening to Fall Out Boy – _Centuries,_ which you should listen to, or the wookie will rip your arms off. XD. Anyone catch the reference to last chapter? Also Canned Heat – _Let's Work Together._ _I Lived_ by One Republic. **

" **A little box, without key or lid, yet inside golden treasure is hid."**

 **-?**

 **You have to have the answer done in the right theme or it doesn't count. I'm serious.**

 **Last chapter's riddle was solved by Dragon rider's fury. It was Han Solo. Enjoy your victory cookie. **

**(::)**

 **What was that about the wounded dragon thing. Are you secretly ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignsHisCommentsWithA? Update, you are, and you pulled off the mysticism quite well in my opinion. I could not be more happy for you.**

 **Beta'd by harrypanther. I'm planning to become my own full-fledged beta once I meet the criteria. Yay.**

I pulled my cloak in tighter around me. The wind didn't care, digging under my skin anyway and sweeping a few handfuls of snow down the back of my shirt. The cold was biting more and more and so it made sense that Hiccup wanted to have more rabbit skins. That didn't change the fact that I would much rather be at camp next to a cozy fire, even if it did mean helping him make one of his prototype forges. I stepped down into a snow drift which at first glance had only looked like another hillock. My legs already felt like they were dead and gone, so this wasn't helping. Strangely enough, it was so nippy that my clothing was only frozen stiff, not damp with frozen ice water as it should have been. That was how cold it had gotten, but I wasn't complaining. A viking shouldn't whine about such things.

Right now I was walking on the trailing edge of a small rise in the terrain, checking likely areas for game. The slope made it an ideal place to dig burrows, and the lee side of the hill protected delicious grasses from being blasted by the snow. It was the perfect place to find deer and other herbivores, for to the right when one faced the rise was an easy running escape to a brier patch, and to the left was a particularly thick section of forest past a copse well suited to agile deer. Speaking of which, I saw one now. I ducked down and looked at him, though I was too far away and there was not enough cover to think of going after him. It was a young buck with growing antlers, the velvet still covering them. I just stared at him for a while before he noticed me, and stared at me back. This absurd contest lasted for a while, until he loped away from me, having finally judged the human laying prone on the ground was a threat.

I pushed aside a bough, but it only snapped back to whip me in the face. I thought of how snappy of a bow it would make, if only we had a string. We might try to use tendons from the animals we had and weave them together to make cord, but experience, painful experience, told me to let it go, as they would be too small. Tying on a good bowstring meant that the bow itself had to bend to make tension. If the thread was too short and the bow too long, well, I got quite a few cuts from just being near one when it shattered and threw tiny pieces that spattered everywhere, invisible to the naked eye, and nearly cutting out as well.

I felt like breaking the offending branch, but a hunter had to be quiet. Seeing as though I'd lost most of my stealth anyway, I supposed there was no need to fret about scaring off game, as I'd already spooked much of the forest. I reached out and gave an easy twist. The bough snapped off and fell to the ground limply. I looked down at it, lying there in the snow, and gave a snort of triumph.

"Not feeling so smart are you." I taunted to nobody. Perhaps the wilderness was getting to me, I worried, but then shrugged it off. At least I had Hiccup for company, though he wasn't very talkative at best, and his mouth shut like a clam at worst. Getting in a hundred words a day in conversation with him was a minor victory. I say conversation because he tends to ramble.

I found a small gut cherry bush with some of the pits pf the fruit still hanging on by a thread. They'd obviously been eaten by the birds and left to dry, though I did find a berry in the dirt, it was mangled by some ground feeder. The hardy berries were hard to kill, but even they had their limits, as a little further on I saw one lying on the ground, it's stem snapped by a combination of some small animal, rabbit perhaps, and snow and the cold had taken their share. The wind had become softer, and only moaned gently when I bothered to notice it, for now I was deeper in the copse, which was only around ten yards in width but much longer. It was a good windbreak and the last time I'd come up here I'd used it to take a quick break from traveling and even eat some dried meat that Hiccup had made at camp on our new drying shelves.

An ingenious design if you ask me, for instead of letting the smoke just pass through the machine, he recycled it, and caught the ash in the bottom of a small tin he'd found washed up on the shore when he'd gone fishing, which failed spectacularly, but that isn't the point. We reused the heat to keep us warm. Overall, it was a decent arrangement, my only complaint being that the ash exits on my side, because of course it did.

There was nothing on the ridge at this time of day, for rabbits were most active in the morning and at nightfall, and I'd already spooked the deer. That wasn't the real reason I was out here though, probably a mile from camp. That was because of the dragon tracks. A couple days ago I'd found them when I had been exploring and got tangled in a light snowstorm. I'd holed up to keep warm and when I came out there had been a dragon trail just twenty feet away. It had been a limping Nadder for sure, for there were three toes like a bird, but the two hocks on the back of it's foot had pressed into the snow, so I'd known it was a young adult for sure, even if the easily compressible powder had messed with the tracks, for the distance between them was about the distance one would expect if it was a young male, out for food. Its left foot had skidded all over the place and I was pretty sure it's wing was broken because of the broken twigs everywhere. Nadders are usually stealthy, and dragons in general settle down during the winter, whether to hibernate or just to conserve energy, so finding one still wandering around in the dead of winter meant that there was something wrong with it.

When I'd found the tracks they were still 'hot', less than thirty minutes since the print was laid for sure. I had been hiding from the storm in a crevice in a small valley that led away from a favorite feeding place for rabbits that I'd scouted earlier. After I realized that it must've passed by me by only about twenty yards with me only having a dagger to keep me from becoming shapeless mush in a dragon's stomach, I made a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods.

I looked up at the clouds. It was all grey up there but a patch of much darker sky worried me. I could see the half-shining, half-misted snow coming down from the sky, lagging behind it's parent, which was growing fast. A short blizzard, but a dangerous one nonetheless. I didn't want to end my life by falling off of a cliff I couldn't see just because of a storm messing with my vision. I couldn't get home before it struck so my only option was to sit here and wait it out. It shouldn't take too long before the front passed through and the milder weather wrested control. Then I'd be able to see again. I gathered some downed branches and some bark almost without thinking and found a nice dry spot underneath a large conifer tree that had sheltered the ground from the encroaching winter. I reached for my belt, where there was a sewn skin which held all of my tinder, which I gently formed into a ball and indented. I found some smaller pieces of wood and struck easily on the flint, which had also been hanging on my belt via whittled clips, a convenient gadget which had also been made by Hiccup. After my second try the fire lit and I blew on it mildly, for I didn't want to scatter the tiny flame. I added bigger and bigger twigs to it until I had built it to a soft blaze which radiated gentle warmth. I made a quick pass with my fingers and yawned, reaching for a small log and placing it on. Now I could rest easy, though sleeping was another, more dangerous matter. The branches curled down around me and formed a tent of sorts, though they were covered in snow. The shadows flickered and danced endlessly as the fire crackled, and the leaves swayed gently in the mumbling wind. It was beautiful beyond words that I have to describe it, a completely ethereal experience which even now makes me hunger for the occasional walk, just to do absolutely nothing but enjoy nature.

The snow started coming down outside the copse but it didn't bother me, for the trees protected me, even though the wind blew hard west, trying it's level best to freeze me. The windbreak held up to the wind's advances, like it always had, and I drifted off to the moan of air rushing through the pine fronds, seemingly without a care in the world, despite my best efforts. Just before I was about to really fall asleep, a snap broke my reverie, and my hand went to the hilt of my dagger, ready for anything. A few more snaps and cracklings came and I stood up, looking around me with the light of the fire which had quieted down and was now flaming gently over it's own embers, though I threw on a bit more fuel just in case. I could see something moving behind the cover of the trees, but I couldn't quite guess what. I craned my neck and moved around to get a better view. The stranger seemed to be doing the same thing, as they had stopped moving so much and whoever it was was making slower softer movements. I couldn't be sure it wasn't a dragon yet, or even if it was a person, they might be unfriendly, so I took a fighting stance, hands ready to let fly my knife with deadly accuracy. Maybe it was just a cat prowling around and there was no need to worry. Better safe then sorry though. I couldn't hear any more movement outside, but I stayed tense. Finally getting tired of the game I stepped forward and ripped open the fronds which made up the 'tent'.

Only to be faced with a dragon's head looming far above mine. My combat instincts kicked in and whatever I'd been thinking before was replaced by the need to survive. I kicked up snow as I rolled away to avoid the inevitable blast of magnesium fire which would burn me to a crisp if I stayed still. I made a perfect recovery, ready to go on offense and do what was necessary. Queerly the dragon stayed still, only turning its bird-like head to look at me. In the flickering firelight I could finally see what I was fighting. It was that injured Deadly Nadder, for sure enough it's left foot, my right, was dragging, and it's right knee looked strangely bent, though I couldn't place what was wrong. Looking up to the body, I saw that the wing was broken, hanging crookedly and lifting up and showing the broadside whenever there was a gust. I noticed that whenever this happened the dragon winced perceptibly. I had been wrong about one thing though, for the shining scales were blue, a female color in these dragons. All this and more I registered in a moment, for if I had to stand still (which I was doing) too long, I'd die. My legs stiffened and I waited for an opening, circling the dragon, which hadn't done anything other than turn to keep it's head pointed at me.

Instead of opening its wide mouth and blasting me to oblivion, or raising the poisonous tail and nailing me with spikes, for I had no shield, it just watched me. I made no sudden moves while I planned how to take it down. I might be able to stab it in the throat and make it bleed out if I could avoid the defending tail and the spines it would throw. Still it made no moves to attack me, which baffled me. Then an idea came to me. I jumped away suddenly, hoping to startle it and coax it to fire. The dragon stiffened but then relaxed. Was it so badly injured it couldn't attack me? That might explain it's unexpected behavior. Then why didn't it rush me and try to snap my bones? It could certainly run, though not fast. Was it sick? I certainly didn't want it to come to camp and wreck it. The only way to get rid of this thing was to kill it, but I certainly wouldn't like to try, not without my axe. We just stared each other down, me with murder in my eyes and it with no fear, almost passive. Sooner or later one of us would have to make a move, and if it didn't attack I might have to. I noticed that it's legs stirred uneasily and made a feint lunge. It didn't react.

I stepped closer to it, intending to take advantage of its unresponsiveness. I took one step, and then another, and I was about to make a third when it threw its spikes. I jolted back, but it hadn't been aiming for me. Where the bony spines had impacted there was a half-circle, perfectly traced in the snow. The message was clear, if I stepped past that line it would kill me. I stood still, not sure what to do in this situation. With it's injuries, perhaps it was afraid of overexerting itself. Suddenly it started to cough and shake its head violently, the angle of the orange firelight giving it a sinister look. Some ice fell off a tree branch and sloughed to the ground, making a soft thump and throwing small clumps into the air behind the dragon as it finally regurgitated the front half of a rabbit out of its mouth, nearly throwing it into my face. I sidestepped and it landed at my feet. I wasn't sure what to do, so I didn't move. Charging I could handle, and I could probably make it if it threw its spikes, though that was chancy, but conventional dragon knowledge had nothing on this. The Nadder snorted, as if expecting me to do something, I didn't know what. I looked down. I might get hungry on this island, but I wasn't going to eat anything that came out of a dragon's stomach. To prove my point I took out some jerky and ate it, chewing pointedly. It stamped and turned its back on me, walking away until it was lost between the trees. I stood there for a minute before coherent thought came back to me.

That was possibly the strangest thing I've ever seen, I thought to myself. Curiouser and curiouser. Maybe it was a ploy to make me let my guard down. I've seen tricks like that before. They'd run, and then use the terrain to glide up suddenly from behind you and swallow you up. It had happened before, so I let my jaw hang loose and listened, turning my head from side to side like a hound. All I could hear was the distant crashing of brush, away in the same direction the dragon had gone when it stomped off. Well that was new, I thought as I walked back to the fire.

The downpour had nearly petered out, and I'd have to go home soon, too distracted to be hunting. Sure enough, the snow died down, leaving a fresh, sweet smelling forest that looked crystal clear, though the sun was setting behind the cloud cover, creating the illusion of blue powder hanging on the brush. Not quite believing what I'd seen, I packed up all of my stuff and started home. The wide copse exited to what could easily be called a plain, rolling hundreds of yards every way I looked. I trudged through it, careful not to let any of the new snow fall into my boot. What used to be a flower crunched under my boot, reminding me of home. I hoped to make it to camp before nightfall came and I might as well have stayed with the fire I'd already made. It began to sprinkle again, though the flakes came down not so heavily. I managed to catch one on my tongue on the first try, though it was just for fun.

I walked into camp and immediately unhooked my flint and tinder, putting them under the firewood shelter Hiccup had woven. At the moment he was busy working smaller branches into our home, trying to make it snow proof. I ducked in and kicked my boots off onto the thankfully dry floor.

"Catch anything?" said Hiccup absentmindedly.

"No, but I did see a deer."

Something in my tone caused Hiccup to be concerned, for he looked up and asked, with more interest in his voice,

"Why not? You are the great Astrid Hofferson, the infallible after all."

"I'm not infallible you know." All this was avoiding the point and we both knew it.

"I can't see any deer here. Have they all suddenly turned invisible?" remarked Hiccup. Ah, sarcasm. I punched him.

"Hey! What was that for."

"You should know. Your tongue will get you in some serious trouble someday."

"I should've realized it earlier! You only keep me around because you need me." his hands flew up to his head and he fainted in pretend distress.

I sighed.

"I met a dragon."

"Did you kill it?" Hiccup asked, getting up. "We could use the meat, even if it is tough and stringy. I also assume you haven't brought it home yet either." More sarcasm.

"It's complicated."

"Didn't want to fight it with just a dagger, huh. I could make you a crude axe, given a couple of weeks." Another unspoken question answered. I hate when he does that, but not really.

"I wasn't afraid of it, if that's what you're saying."

Hiccup cringed, already wary of my punches. Despite his usual carefree nature, he did have some common sense.

"No. That's not what I meant. Please don't kill me." he said, though he was slightly exaggerating my destructive tendencies.

"It just.. acted weird. Like it was diseased or something."

"Did it lose its balance?"

"Yes.. No. Maybe. It didn't attack me like I expected it to. It was injured though, so maybe it was conserving strength."

"That's strange."

Hiccup went pushed a twig into a hole, then took a scoop of dirt and stuffed that into the cracks of the weave. Our hut was steadily improving thanks to his efforts, and I could no longer feel the chilling wind that used to go straight through my skin, though it wasn't stuffy either. A shelf of jerky was weaved into the wall, the meat stacking as high as it would go without toppling off. I could see some ash on the lip of our stone smoker, which was hard at work with something Hiccup must've caught in his section, or perhaps one of the last loads of fish.

We had realized that on an island as small as this if we hunted the game too hard in one area it would take a long time to bounce back, for if by some ill fate we had to spend the next winter here, it would be be a shame if we starved to death for lack of meat. I personally don't think two people could do that to an entire island, but Hiccup has been right about these kind of things before, and I respect that, if grudgingly. Our camp had gotten bigger, and now we had a taller woodpile, thanks to Hiccup figuring out how to cut down a tree using fire. We tested that on a small cedar, which fell, but we weren't strong enough to carry home. After that we kept it to saplings which were too big to fell with a dagger. I didn't want to waste the limited metal I had on wood either, so it was overall a better arrangement.

We ate mostly rabbit, but I'd caught a small turkey, which we would probably finish off for dinner. Fish we didn't have in large amounts, mostly due to Hiccup's reluctance to trot all the way to the beach, fish there in the cold for an hour, and return home, most likely with not much catch. Still, the haddock were hungry before the permanent ice set in, and most of the time we had a baited hook out, we'd get a bite. For bait we used sparing parts of a hibernating frog he'd found in the frozen mud one day, but we were running out of that too.

Hiccup wrung his fingers before putting away the new section of house he'd been weaving, and looked up at the nearly dark sky.

"My fingers feel like sausages. Guess we'd better eat dinner." he said.

I made no objection, and sure enough, the last of the turkey was soon reheating over the fire while we warmed up and began to unwind. Hiccup, who still had his boots on, crossed his legs and put them next to the fire to defrost.

"Colder and colder. You'd better get those sleeping bags done." I said.

"Only if you could actually catch something to make them out of." he grumbled, but he didn't really mean it.

"At least I'm better at hunting than Snotlout." I retorted. "Remember when he got hung over before a hunt and nearly speared Stoick?"

"And the time he nearly got a tattoo of a mug of mead." said Hiccup, getting into the swing of things, completely forgetting the argument.

"Boys will be boys." I said, then added, "No offense intended."

"None taken. What do you think he's doing right now? With me gone, he'll be the Heir. I think it'll all go to his head. At least you're not around to hear all his flirting. Then we'd all have to fear for our lives.

"He already drives me crazy."

"So how do you hold it in?" asked Hiccup.

"I got revenge once. I was about thirteen when he got sick with the pox, I was Gothi's apprentice at the time, after Lard died."

"I remember that."

"So there he was, sitting in the bed, unable to move because he's too sick, and I'm dangling a bowl of the cure right over his nose."

"Good times. I wish I'd been there to see it, but I must have been in the forge or something, because I've never heard of that one till now."

"Do you think he misses us? He is Snotlout after all."

"Sometimes he can be more than just the 'best viking in the entire world.", Hiccup waved his hands emphatically. "When you dig deeper, he's got a good heart. No matter how many times he cracks jokes at my expense, and no matter how many times he helps the twins prank the village, he wouldn't hesitate to protect all of us."

"But he's so… Snotlout. I don't think he's got that in him."

"He did save me from a particularly bad joke from Tuffnut though. Remember when they dumped acid down my tunic?"

I shook my head.

"He bought me a new one. At his expense. He can be better, it just takes the right situation."

"So find a way for that to be all the time, because his flirting is going to cause me to go insane one of these days."

Hiccup began to answer me, but a burning smell reached my nostrils, and his too by the look on his face, which was all screwed up. I looked over at the turkey and saw that half of it had fallen off of the stick roasting it and was turning to a black crisp in the heated coals.

"This is just lovely." said Hiccup, "Perfectly good food, wasted."

He pulled up the bird by it's cooler head, which had held on by a hair and prevented the whole thing from being ruined.

"So now what? I don't mind toasted food, my dad is a terrible cook, but what will you do?"

"I'll manage. But toasted is an understatement."

It was true. Most of the skin was impossible to tell from the ash that was dusted all over it, concealing the marred surface of the actual meat. I took a stick that had been laying around, rubbed off the bark, and started to peel back the skin, trying to salvage what was left. This made me really wish we had some utensils and not just our fingers. One layer of skin was being stubborn and I had to grab the hair follicles with my hands to pull it off, slicking my hand with sticky oils as I did so. I knew that wiping my hands off on the ground wouldn't really help, but I couldn't help doing it anyway.

"This makes me really wish for soap." I said, still trying to get the grass to absorb the brown mess on my palm somehow, but not succeeding.

"I could make some," Hiccup offered, but it would smell."

I wondered what my family would say if I ate at the dinner table like this, just with my fingers, no salt, no fork and knife, no tablecloth, no nothing. I'd get kicked out in a jiffy. See, even we vikings have standards. The Outcasts don't count, because they're outcast. Get it? Anyway, it really was getting on my nerves, not having anything to clean my hands off with except rabbit skins, and even they got saturated.

We ate silently, like farmers do after a long day of hard work. There was no talking, just an eerie silence which we both accepted and did not disturb. Finally I put down the last bone, and a moment later Hiccup did the same. He laid back and let the meal digest, and not finding anything on my mind at the moment, I followed his example. Nature abhors a vacuum, and humans are no different. Finding Hiccup not so talkative, I began to ramble endlessly and almost without point.

"The ocean ought to freeze over soon. Hopefully we'll get rescued, but I don't see that happening unless it's tomorrow, or the boat will get stranded too. Stuck on an abandoned island with only a little food and a rogue dragon." I chuckled half heartedly. "Our chances don't look too good. But then again if we can get enough fish to last us through the winter, maybe we'll make it. Did we put a notch on the stick today? This must be day three that we've been stuck here, I think."

"Four. It's day four, I just forgot to mark it down." mumbled Hiccup.

"I should do that soon. At least we have a roof over our heads here. Remember that seven day blizzard we had last year? We'd be icicles, unless we got lucky. I'm feeling lucky today, because I *yawn scared off a dragon. I could do that all over again, it wouldn't be too hard, not for me." My judgement was clearly clouded. "That thing is a danger to camp at any rate. Suppose it gets into our food, what then? I don't want to starve to death, nobody does, but we'll manage some how, or I'll have to hunt it down before it steals something, I suppose. We'd have enough time for that if I started tomorrow. Should we?" I asked Hiccup, who was half-asleep, his eyelids drooping lazily, hastened by the warmth of the fire.

"We have to catch more fish before the sea freezes and we can't get any more. Maybe it can wait till the day after that or something." he said.

"And you'll make some soap?"

"And make soap. I'll get to that once you do something useful."

"As long as you don't sleep in." I shot back, though I didn't get a response and didn't expect one.

I smiled at his 'resting' form and got up to put on some firewood. Shaking off the sudden fatigue that had settled into my bones, I manhandled a few logs and dumped them on the fire, then crawled into my own corner and tried to fall asleep. But some part of me just wouldn't let that happen, and I squirmed, trying to find a good position. I tried putting my head on my arms, but that wouldn't work, and then I curled up into a ball to keep warm, but I was too hot already, so I threw off my coat and laid on top of it , letting the breeze brush through my hair. My skin felt itchy and it was too uncomfortable for me to get even a wink, so I decided to take a quick gander outside. Time is a strange and malleable thing. When you're having fun or doing something dangerous, it flies and the sun is down before you know it and you have to go home. But other times it just crawls like a snail and you can't help but look at the sun every thirty seconds, and perhaps you start counting the minutes in a vain attempt to make them go faster, or maybe even you count yaks to pass the hours. This was one of those happenings, and I was sick of it.

I stepped out of the tent and found myself in a pristine winter world, unbroken by trampling feet on the snow that was sparkling, even in the limited moonlight of this extremely rare night. There were no clouds, and the full moon glistened like a giant sapphire floating in the sky, untouchable by any human means, and inspiring to the faint of heart. I may or may not have had yet another poetic moment. After a few breaths of the clear air I ducked back inside and pulled up my cloak, letting my eyes close, anticipating the next morning.

It felt like the next moment that I rolled out of bed and into our new reality. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked up. Hiccup was already awake,with his legs crossed and a smug expression on his face, which I would have loved to wipe off with a well placed punch. He reminded me too much of Snotlout when he did that.

"Guess how high the sun is." he said.

"Not up yet." I groaned a bit, still suffering from a touch of morning sickness, though it was wearing off.

"Almost noon. I wonder who's slept in. Not me." He wagged his eyebrows sarcastically.

I recalled our conversation from the night before and mentally slapped myself, even if I couldn't afford to show it.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Sure, sure. It's not like there's light streaming into the tent or anything. And I didn't have to shake your head off just to wake you up." he said, but then added, with a little more sincerity in his voice, "That dragon must've really shaken you. Your face looks a little worse for wear, almost bleary I'd say, but then again it's a bad idea to insult you, seeing from all the bruises on my arms."

He chuckled nervously.

"A reputation well deserved." I said. "How long have you been awake?"

"About two and a half hours or so. I went fishing and I was actually just making breakfast. I shook you awake so rudely because I didn't want to do room service."

I kicked off my cloak and reached for my boots, which Hiccup tossed to me. I caught them and began to put them on, but my getting my heel in was a tight squeeze. It wouldn't go in without a fight.

"Is it just me or are these boots getting smaller? Because this is getting annoying." I said, pulling on the my second shoe in an effort to shove in the back of my foot.

"I think you're getting bigger, and the boots stayed the same size. They look the same to me." he said.

"They don't feel the same. Maybe we can make it bigger?" I asked.

"But then I'd have to put off knitting the blanket, which is something I really don't want to do. I was chilled pretty bad last night, and having something extra on would help with that."

"I see." I rubbed my chin without thinking about it, then pulled my hand back, hoping Hiccup wouldn't notice. He did.

"Looks like I'm rubbing off on you, your worship."  
"Very funny."

"I'm just pointing out the obvious." he said.

I was about to make a witty comeback when I smelled something awfully familiar waft in on the air.

"If you don't want breakfast to be a repeat of last night, you had better check on the food." I said.

Hiccup's face dropped and he looked down at the fire sitting just outside the doorstep. He jumped forward and began to tend to the fish which was currently roasting itself to tiny black pieces. I was slightly amused, but I helped him wrangle the superheated haddock off the fire and onto the special rock I'd cleaned off and used as a dinner plate for the both of us. I dragged up a stool and waited for it to steam off. True to Hiccup's word, the sun was waxing easily towards noon, though it gave no heat, it was nice to know that it was actually there and not just a memory. The mosquitoes had gone at least, but that was only a minor convenience compared to winter's great hardships.

"So," Hiccup began, an awkward end to an awkward silence. "What really happened out there, with the dragon you know? Whatever happened messed with you, and I'd like to hear about it."

"It's a long story."

"We have time. It's not like we're on a deserted island with nothing to do." Hiccup pressed.

"I suppose I'd better start then. Remember yesterday's storm? I took shelter in a copse of trees and lit a fire. Underneath a cedar I think. The fire caught the dragon's attention, because I heard some rustling in the brush. I thought it might be a bobcat or something, prowling his territory, so I left well enough alone. After a while the noise stopped, but I thought that was suspicious. I saw something through the trees, and for a minute neither of us made a move. Then I got tired of the game and ripped away the branches between us."

"I can imagine the look on your face." remarked Hiccup.

"Yep. But you'd be running away screaming. At least I held my ground." I said, playfully insulting him.

"No." he scowled.

"What about the night you went out with one of your contraptions and then got nearly crisped by a Nightmare."

"That was an isolated incident."

"Or the time you got creamed by a terror. You were running away with it hanging on your back."

"This is getting embarrassing. When we get older you'll spill my secrets to every youngster on Berk, and don't deny it."

"Maybe. But on with the story. There's a Nadder right in front of me with it's head poised to blast me. I rolled out of the way, but this is where it gets weird. First of all, it doesn't try to crisp me. It just stands there, as stupid as a yak. No breathing fire, no spikes, no nothing. Just staring at me. I think it must have been sick, because it had some injuries. A broken wing, and a leg that was bent the wrong way." I said, then added, "It had a limp foot too."

"Did it have any blood on it?" asked Hiccup, "Bite marks, stains on it's scales?"

I shook my head.

"Maybe I didn't see them. It just followed me with it's head, and turned it's legs when it needed to."

"Did it have a far away, glassy look in it's eyes? Sometimes that'll happen. Perhaps it was following you by sound because it was blind." He pulled at the almost nonexistent hair that made up his beard. Maybe it would become noticeable within fifty years or so.

I thought back to the incident. I certainly didn't remember any of that, but you could only trust your memory so far.

"No."

"Then I think we can probably rule out that it was sick. Maybe it's just acting defensive because of your reputation." he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"I circled it and tried to bait a couple of shots. It's like it didn't want to kill me."

"What happened then?"

"I tried getting closer, see if I could get a reaction."

"Sounds like it might have been baiting you instead."

"It didn't like me getting too close. I was about… five feet away when it fired it's spines. I dodged, but they weren't aimed for me."

"And that's when you messed up your reverse tumble." said Hiccup.

I paused, not sure if he was trying to make or reference or what, but when he shrugged his shoulders, I continued.

"The spines made a nice circle in the snow, four feet from it's head. Personal space issues. And then it started coughing up something, like it got a case of the flu."

"So it was sick?"

"I didn't say that. It coughed up half of a rabbit and threw it at me with it's tongue. I moved out of the way, but it still landed at my feet. It's like it wanted me to eat it or something. Like a peace offering. I'm not eating anything that comes out of a dragon's stomach though."

"Good choice."

"Stop interrupting me. _As I was saying…_ I didn't know what to do, so I just stood there and waited for it to shoot me. Or at least do something. I was having a stare fight with a dragon at that point, and just when I thought it was going to try and stomp me, it turned around and left."

"Can I talk now?"

"Yes."

"So if it's not sick, and it's not attacking, why don't we just let the matter go. If it has a broken wing and can't fly, than why not just leave it to starve to death. It wouldn't put us in danger and the problem would go away on it's own."

"Because if it gets hungry enough it'll come for our food stores."

"Right." said Hiccup. "Speaking of which, my fish is cold. Typical." He sniffed.

I sighed and picked up the haddock. It still tasted good, if a little gritty, but it was much better than last night's fare. A bone nearly went down my throat but I spat it out on the grass. I'd pick it up later. The rest of the fish I finished with three bites, as sleeping in this late had made me ravenous.

Hiccup finished his share earlier than me, having taken a smaller piece, and immediately headed over to the fire pit, where he started to scoop ash into his palm. Using his left hand, oddly enough, but I didn't have the time to worry about that.

"Making soap?" I asked.

"Yep. We just don't have a container to make it in. Did anyone ever teach you to whittle? I could use the help."

"No."

"Mmm. That makes it harder then. If you could make a bowl to hold the lye and the oil together than that'd be great. Otherwise," He shrugged, "I'll just have to do it."

"I can learn."

"On the fly? You know what, never mind. Just don't cut off your fingers. While you're doing that I'll render some of the rabbit fat. Which I can't do without a bowl."

"Life is coming full circle." I said.

"Lovely. Here, I have a knob from a tree you can use." He threw it to me from where it was sitting by the fire, in his little workshop area. "I thought it might be useful. It's softwood, so it's soft enough to be usable."

"Alright."

"While you're doing that, I will look for some more bait, because we ran out of tree frog yesterday and I need some more."

He got up and huckstered around, not exactly sure about what to do yet. After some thought he bent down and took some of the rudimentary fishing gear. Our wooden hook (Yes, that's for real) and it's stone weight, as well as the rabbit intestine that passed for string around here. He slung it over his head and tromped off to the forest.

"What do you think you'll find."

He shouted something back over his shoulder that I couldn't quite make out.

"Guppies!"

Hiccup sighed and turned around all the way, cupping his hands to his mouth, letting his gear fall to the ground.

"No. I'm hoping to find some frozen. Grubs! There. You got it."

I nodded and he humphed, picked up his gear and trotted away. I picked up my knife and began to work, all the while forming plans in my head, and passing the time, waiting for him to get back. A week ago I wouldn't have touched him with a ten foot pole, but now that we had an understanding of sorts, it was easier to get along. Before I started whittling though, I needed to cut a notch on the day stick.

 **A/N Man that was hard to write. SO. Things have been getting a little difficult here, but I've never stopped writing, don't worry. The first version of this chapter was bad, and I mean really bad, so I had to completely rewrite it in two days, keeping only the front paragraph. It was tough and I'm finally done with that fiasco.**

 **Harrypanther already solved today's riddle, but he's my beta and so I'm going to give you a chance. No cheating.**


	12. The Hidden Plains

**A/N**

 **Dragon rider's fury. Close, but no beans. Written while listening to Ted Nugent – Stranglehold and Mission Impossible on synthesia by Marioverehrer (the latter). It's a wonderfully composed song that gets in your bones and just _feels_ right. Fall out boy too, and Nitro Fun- Final Boss, as well as Through the Fire and Flames arranged by Sheet Music Boss, the end part is amazing! Someone please actually try these songs, because I'd really appreciate that.**

 **So, new schedule. My time is being split into tiny pieces, so I'm going to be experimenting with a new chapter format (maybe).**

 **I am thinking about incorporating the dragon on the picture into the story. And no, I'm not joking. Instead of the normal Red Death vs Bewilderbeast thing I might have a three way tug of war between these three alpha species, this one being oriental and discovered later on in the story.**

 **AshlaTi is my favorite star wars writer. Just getting my thoughts out there, Jepsie. Anyway, on with the show.**

 **Riddle of the day.**

 **I move every second, every minute, every hour, I have 3 arms but no body. What am I?**

Ocean peered at the sky for what seemed like the millionth time. A little speck appeared in her vision, but she blinked and it disappeared. She sighed and scratched an errant scale off her foot, which was healing nicely, she liked to note, though it wouldn't completely fix itself without proper care. Well, no need to cry over spilt milk. Her legs just wanted to move, and she shuffled them backwards and forwards to ease the outcry. Since getting home from the… incident, she'd been quite nervous, as the long, scraping marks on the rocks showed. There was nobody to talk to and nothing to do, so why did she feel so active? The best way to describe it would be to say that she was having jitters, but just recognizing the fact didn't make it any better.

Perhaps a little fire would help. The inside of the cave certainly looked cheerless, and not at all cozy, so perhaps a little fire would help. She stretched her jaws, revealing her pearly white teeth (once again, Nadder grooming), and exhaled easily with one practiced motion, spraying a whitish orange liquid onto the floor. It acted like a torch, lighting up the room and all it's cracks and crevices, including one that she had opened up to improve the air flow, so that when she did things like this it wouldn't be so suffocating. Now the little hole looked more like home, and she settled down a little, her tail relaxing and slowly drooping to the ground, a prime mark of a dragons feelings. The tiny flames burned on for a little while, until they slowly vanished, one by one turning into little grey dust. She didn't fall asleep exactly, she just rested to be precise, letting her muscles and memories catch up to circumstances and pondering over the events of the day, like she had so many times before. The difference now was that she actually had something worthwhile to think about, unlike before when her thoughts were mainly occupied on childish things and not on matters of importance.

She had been hunting, minding her own business when the snowstorm came. The cold winter didn't annoy dragons as much as it did humans, but that didn't mean they were immune, especially at the joints, and even more especially from wind chill. Her foot had been getting a tinge numb when she spotted the perfect copse of trees, a perfect line connecting from one prong of the forest to the other. Hoping to find refuge from the blasting snow which was starting to freeze up the blood in her wings, she took cover in the woods, coming in from the east side, as a stubborn deer had taken her beyond her normal haunts (she never caught it).

Just when she was about to fall asleep she saw a blinking light through the trees. It might have been human, so she watched it intently for a minute. Not daring to send out any calls of greeting, in order to avoid triggering a potential viking threat, she decided to investigate with her eyeballs. Her nose she couldn't use, as getting far enough west to be downwind of the flames would take her out of the windbreak, which she didn't want to do. Ah foolish youth. So impulsive. Trying to be stealthy but not overtly stealthy, she slowly walked towards the unknown flames, for a fire it was, from its constant flickering and changing she could at least see that. She glided past a few boughs, trying not to break them, but impatient nonetheless. This happened a few more times until she reached a log, which she nearly tripped over. Instead of stepping around it, she kicked it to the side, softly, but it was still a kick. It rolled into some brush and snapped a few twigs. She cringed at the sound, but unwound when they stopped. Ocean was a little distracted after that, which made her miss a seemingly innocuous twig laying there on the ground. When she stepped on it though, a hundred ice tendrils within it's hidden part shattered, making a loud cracking noise. Shoot, she thought. Well, no point in being stealthy anymore, unless whoever it was happened to be hard of hearing, she would have been detected already. She listened to see if she could hear any movement. Other than the crinkling buzz of the falling snow, which she had already gotten used to, and her own wildly beating heart, everything seemed fine, and quiet as a lark as well. She crept forward, legs poised to dodge any possible attack, but there was no response from the fire's owner. She paused right in front of the branches which concealed the fire, mostly, from the outside world, and wondered if she should step in. The fire was concealing any possible scents, and so no alarm bells went off in her head when she couldn't smell anyone there. Still, a small voice in the back of her head kept telling her about all the bad things that could happen to her if she went in. She tried to dismiss them, but it wasn't exactly easy, what with this weather making her spine tingle. She wanted to step forward, but her mind was so conflicted that her feet didn't budge, so confused they just shut down. Great. Now what.

Apparently a fight, because just when she was about to push the branches aside, a feisty human did that for her, and she was holding a knife. Things were about to get interesting. Ocean used the way of defusing situations that her father had used, not backing down, but not making eye contact and trying to look nonthreatening. She tilted her head and instantly the human, viking by the looks of the spiked skirt, flipped away, probably anticipating a fire attack. It began to circle her, probably looking for any weaknesses in her defense, though it made no sudden moves, but Ocean twisted along with it, looking to parry any strike, or to simply be on her footing if worst came to worst and she had to get out of the area quickly. It looked vaguely interested in her injuries and she instinctively shielded them, preventing it from slashing at them and making them worse. All she wanted to do was get out of this confrontation and go home, but it looked like the human was going to make doing that difficult. Suddenly it jumped away and skidded backwards on the snow, making a perfect two-point landing. Humans didn't like putting their claws in the cold stuff, she thought, though she was uncertain as to how she knew that little fact.

She stiffened, but then relaxed, as she remembered that she was supposed to look nonthreatening. Ocean saw how easy it would be to rush the human down, to crush it, but didn't. Suppose there was a viking tribe around there, and they found this girl laying dead. She couldn't fly, and would be easy prey for anyone looking to kill her. Not like they wouldn't do that without provocation anyway. The human made a quick lunge at her, but it was a feint, and it stepped back after only the lightest of stops. Ocean made sure that it had pulled back all the way when she threw her spines, but not at the human. Instead they hit the snow in a half-circle only six feet in front of her, marking her personal space. The human crouched to leap forwards again, but didn't attack, evidently accepting her declaration. They stood still, each one eyeing the other warily. So much for not being a threat. They circled each other a little more until she, finally bored of the game, decided to give a peace offering and be done with it. She inhaled all the air she could muster, just to keep her from running out of breath, and then coughed, her face contorting into a strange shape, not unlike a hedgehog. Embarrassing but worth it, unless the human stabbed her in the throat during the ordeal, which she was trusted not to do, because of the honor rules (for a later chapter). Speaking of which, it had stayed where it was, not running away, probably anticipating what she was about to do.

Almost half of a rabbit came up her throat like a cow chewing it's cud, only less gracefully and with much more force. She spit it out at the human, who was a bit far away and hard to reach. The spines had done their job. It sidestepped the flying sponge of dragon drool, but it bounced off a tree limb and landed at it's feet. Ocean looked on, waiting for the inevitable move. Would it take the offering, or would it refuse, kicking back a perfectly good meal. In the grand scheme of things this encounter probably wasn't very important, but it felt to her that the fate of the world hung in the balance. The girl, that much she could tell, didn't do anything, just hastily looked down at the rabbit when she thought that Ocean wasn't looking. She waited, and waited, and even waited a little more, but it made no moves. Thanks to the language barrier, the little thing could no more understand her then she could understand it, but some motions were universal. She turned a half circle, hoping to provoke an agreement from it's fear and bring it to the table, but still it didn't move. Must not of taken the bait. She huffed and marched away, careful to conceal her tracks. The encounter had warmed her bones enough that she could make the trek home, but not without catching a wood mouse first, which she swallowed easily, its warm body finding a new home in her stomach.

So now she was home, bored out of her brain, and that didn't look like that was likely to change anytime soon. Sleep was what she needed now, if she didn't find a way to botch that too. Her mind kept flicking back to the strange encounter. Had she offended it somehow from a rift between their two cultures? It was a viking after all, but couldn't even they see common sense sometimes? She'd probably messed up when she threw the rabbit too hard and it almost beaned the human. She'd have to become more careful. That was it, must have been it, and her mind could not fathom the possibility that someone might not like rabbit fresh from a dragons stomach. At least if they wanted to they could cook it, in a pot or something. Her thoughts wandered over to the fire and it's occupants, and whether or not there were more of them than the little human cared to show, there had to be, must be, and soon she found herself instinctively turning around and eventually, falling asleep.

Her dreams were private that night, and thus I, the narrator, am not allowed to share them, though guesses can be made. Nevertheless she slept soundly and awoke with not a sore bone in her body. This time she was used to her new surroundings and didn't miss a beat, scratching off all of her dull scales on an edged piece of granite in the back. She swatted her head back and forth in the snow, clearing all the sleep out of her eyes and making them less itchy. Now for a toothbrush. Being in the middle of a forest meant that it was easy for her to find a branch to use. That didn't mean that it was all that easy to find one that would either not get stuck in her gums, or would actually clean. Finally she found the perfect match, an oak twig, though for us little humans it would not be right to call it a twig, as it would nearly be the size of one's arm. Child's play to a dragon at any rate. She clamped it in her jaws, suddenly having an idea, and brought to her home, which was just a minute away. There she began to chip away at a rock, somehow with a plan in mind, and began to chat to herself, mumbling along until she was loud enough to be heard.

"And this goes here…." she said as she chucked a stone shard into the snow, and sifted some of the milky dust into a corner.

Finally after a bit of work she stepped back and admired her work, which was just a hole drilled into the weaker sandstone bits of the cave. Then she took the branch and gently let it fall into the hole, with only it's end sticking out, and then pulled it back out with her teeth, which though shiny, were not quite shiny enough. She did this a couple of times and then pulled it out for the last time, dunking it in the snow, perhaps to clean all of the grit off, but stopped and then brought it to her teeth, brushing them as funnily as a dragon can (don't tell her that, but seriously. Imagine someone trying to scratch a mosquito bite on that upper part of their back where they just can't reach without a back scratcher and you get the picture).

Wishing she had a mirror to look in, she settled for the next best thing, brushing extra hard. At this point her fangs were so white that they might as well have been blinders. Oh well. Finally she took out the now extremely frayed bough and placed it in the hole she'd made, where she would have easy access to it. A built in toothbrush holder for her needs, though some of the regular comforts would have to wait for later. At least it wasn't so boorish anymore. She yawned, not feeling like hunting that day. She still had some food in her crop and getting food could wait. At the same time she didn't want to be bored, and sitting still seemed like the best way to rot her brain out of her skull. There were no birds to watch, unless you counted the seagulls flying over her as such, but their screams and calls were not interesting to her. Perhaps a visit to the beach? She could dimly hear the waves rolling up against the shore, calling to her. After all, she was named Ocean for a reason. But that wasn't a subject she really wanted to bring up and she blocked out the possibility of going to the sea. The thing about time is that it's always passing, and if you have the patience to wait it out, something interesting is always bound to happen.

So it was with her. A doe scuttled in front of her, it's white tail up and ready to run. Knowing she couldn't catch it but still enjoying the chase, she followed it. It ran, but did not bolt, and she kept after the illusive animal, which was always showing itself to her, yet tantalizingly out of reach. After a while she slowed down, ready to let it go, but oddly the deer stopped running too, and dropped into a light trot. Just out of curiosity she took a long jump at the creature. It lightly increased its pace, seeming to keep only thirty yards between itself and it's pursuer. She crossed a frozen pool with one large step, the fresh air doing wonders for her health. Faintly she wondered if she'd ever been so energetic back at home, and then realized she hadn't been, even without this bum leg. The snow crunched easily under her footsteps and the sun twinkled through the thin wispy clouds, making a rainbow floating in the sky that her father had once told her meant bad weather. That was something she'd have to ask about when she got the chance, because usually when there was a rainbow it meant that the storm was over. A breach opened in the clouds and the full extent of the white light hit the forest.

Ocean noticed that she had stopped to admire her surroundings and looked back towards where she had seen the deer before she had spaced out. It was still in front of her, though closer than before, and looking at her disinterestedly. She took one last look at the snow hanging from the trees in little balls and walked on, though she was constantly peeking at the amazing scene. It was impossible to ignore it, for all she knew, someone had taken summer and instantly frozen it in a coat of undisturbed ice, preserving it forever. She looked up at the deer. It almost looked like it was huffing, and reluctantly she carried on. Soon the sound of rumbling waves drew nearer, and she wondered if the deer was going to take her there, indeed, she caught a quick glimpse of a sparkling shoreline, but the deer turned west and soon the beach was lost in the trees.

Now the ground began to slope up, not heavily, so that it was hard to walk, but enough for her to feel it in her legs as she climbed. They began to meander on some unseen path, presumably to keep them from going up a steeper slope, for the walls began to close in around her, so that she could only see in front of her and to her back when she turned around, and faintly up the hill she could see a patch of boulders, so that she took caution with her steps, careful not to tread too heavily on the ground, which strangely was free of snow. Cold loving plants dotted the valley, making it the most alive she had seen since she'd crashed here. Still the doe carried on and soon Ocean could see that they were beginning to make it to the top. She looked behind her, to the east, and she could see what looked alarmingly like the pommel of a longsword, though she convinced herself that the island could not hurt her, still she allowed her body to be heedful. Somehow the snow had either not penetrated here or had blown away. Slowly the trees became shorter and more ragged until they looked like little bushes, hiding under rocks from the drying wind. The height would have had any city slicker gasping for breath, but again, the perks of being a dragon. It would appear that they were on a large bluff, which she had somehow missed during her exploration of the island, though strangely there was no snow cap on it (I need to design my islands from the start instead of making it up as I go).

Suddenly she almost tripped over nothing, as she had not been paying attention to where she was going. How ironic. She flapped her wings forward and jumped back, though they hurt like crazy from the unexpected strain. The doe was standing at it's usual distance, also on the rim of what was one of the largest craters she'd ever seen, making the Queen's lair look tiny in comparison. It stretched almost a mile and a half in every direction except north, where it was pinned by the shoreline, doubtless rising out of the sea from some unknown subterranean landmass. The bluffs surrounding them fell steeply down to a plateau almost five hundred feet or so below her, and Ocean felt very small in comparison to the winter majesty all around her. How come she had not seen this before? Her question was answered when she saw that the east and south sides of the crater were higher than the north and west sides, covering up the concealed plateau from any prying eyes, though the other sides compensated with their sheer steepness. The plateau below her was as flat as a dish on the bottom but looked rather more like a bowl. There was a small bit of forest in it but most of the place was plains, dotted with black dots that could be possible prey, meat to satisfy her hunger, which she had built up climbing the hills, for she had easily digested her food on a journey she had not been expecting. As she looked on the deer scampered down the bluff, leaving her alone to do what she wanted.

The first thing Ocean did was look for home, just to make sure that it was actually still there. Up here she felt almost as if she was flying, but she well knew how long it took to travel without the use of her wings, which took away from some of the grandeur, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. She ran her eyes along the place where she thought that home could be, but she wasn't able to find it until a gust of wind guided her head in the right direction, where she could now clearly see the little place where the trees bent apart and revealed a crumbling pile of rocks. She felt a small sense of shame overcome her, that her new home could be in such condition, and she vowed to fix it up when she got back. Then curiosity overcame her and she looked around the island for any human settlements. She didn't see any, though with their penchant for cutting down every tree within fifty yards should have made them easy to spot. What now? Was the person she'd met earlier from a ship that had landed here? If it had been there last night it might have left because of the clearer weather, perhaps. That must have been it, for she could see no settlement anywhere, though it wouldn't hurt to check the other side of the rim.

Deer forgotten, she began the equally long trek to the bottom, careful not to aggravate her already tender leg wounds any further by slipping or breaking a foot on the way down. The slope wasn't entirely bare, for there were the remains of last year's lichens and wild flowers littered about where ever she cleared away the light dusting of snow, and once or twice she swore she say some mountain goat, manure, in little round pellets littered around here and there. They were slowly rotting, but the breeze swept away any bad smells before they reached her nose. As she got closer to the base of the plateau she noticed that the ground underneath the snow was mostly covered in the tattered remains of grasses. Concealed Plains would be this place's name. It needed a little work, but other than that, this would look like paradise come summer.

The rest of the morning and part of the afternoon she spent exploring, though there wasn't much that wasn't available to see at first glance. The small wood in the western corner was pleasant, but not as noteworthy as the yaks she found wandering around. She ogled them carefully, not wanting to bother chasing them, but still she could not prevent a little saliva from filling the bottom of her mouth, underneath her tongue. What really piqued her interest, however, was a whitish mound in the center of the crater. She walked over to it, hoping to find out what it was. It looked like any old pile of yak bones, but she knew better from the claw marks embedded in it's haunch, and the broken spine in a convenient place showed that something had killed it. The other yaks were keeping a very safe distance, hoping that they wouldn't be next.

Ocean didn't have very much experience out in the field, but she could tell that some pack of animals had killed these. Wolves, or some other pack animal, but most likely wolves. Hopefully they weren't still around, or things could get messy. As she stepped away her foot crunched on something. She looked down. The scarred carcass of a calf lay on the ground, presumably next to it's mother. As she looked around, she couldn't help but see that there were more of them littered around the place on the ground like guano on a sea stack. How had she not noticed this before. She knocked about a little bit more, but none of the kills looked to be less than a year or two old, thankfully. It was still a scary thought, that there might be other predators on the island. Her uncle had battled a pack of coyotes once, and what was to say that she might not be attacked. In this injured state, she wouldn't be much of a match for anything that wanted to get its claws on her.

A chill crawled up her spine and tingled in her neck. She waved it off, but she couldn't help looking over her shoulder every now and then, just to make sure she wasn't being followed. She didn't want to be paranoid, but just to be safe she kept out of the trees, knowing that in the case of an 'incident', that they would only slow her down, catching on her wings and preventing her from making a getaway. Fighting in her case was a bad idea, as evidenced by the extra blue spot on her foot. A sprain. There was something creepy about that place, and though it was teeming with wildlife, as evidenced by the mice under her feet squeaking indignantly, she certainly didn't want to actually live there. Suppose the wolves came back and she was in their territory? She sighed, though she didn't smell any scent marks, which were supposed to be regularly maintained. Hopefully they had died out or met some other fate, or had suddenly become meek and not fierce. She laughed at herself, but still, the fear remained.

The food was just too good to pass up though, and soon Ocean found her legs trotting up and to the entrance which the deer had shown her. Making sure that she wouldn't turn her foot on an errant stone, albeit absentmindedly, she began to daydream. A near miss with a tree brought her back to her senses, and she vowed to be more careful, especially with tracing a map of the path in her head. Until she could fly, the only way to get into the crater without getting tangled up in a berry bush was to follow the way up that she had miraculously been given.

Keeping her directions in mind, it felt like no time until she was off of the steep incline and onto flat ground. Then it was simple. She walked east until she judged she was at the right spot, then turned left and skipped home, happy to be back. She missed it by nearly two-hundred yards, but her curiosity over the last several days had paid off, for she was able to pick up on the terrain, reading it like an open book.

She stood there, not really knowing what to do and in a sort of daze for a while before she picked up her train of thought. She ran her memories over again and then remembered that she was going to do a winter cleaning, which she started, albeit slowly, and not making much progress. She took several pine cones and blew gently on them, releasing only a small measure of the heat stored within her body. The closest one burst into flames, but the others only dried off and exuded a calming, cleansing scent. She flipped them onto her right foot and carefully placed each one in one of the small nooks that filled her home, though she did drop two at one time once, and it was a hassle to only get one back on her toes again. Eventually she solved that problem by taking them both and leaving one, since it she was more able to slide only one cone off than only take one. She felt like kicking the wall a little after that, especially since it had wasted so much time. Ocean looked up, but not at the sun, not wanting to make her eyes burn and possibly give herself a headache. It had barely moved. Whelp.

She began to hum for no good reason, perhaps to pass the time, but her tune was one of her favorite songs when she was smaller, and now that she was out in the big wide world it seemed right to return to what was familiar. She didn't recall the words, but the music was soothing to her, and eased her aching bones, which were still complaining about her climb, not wanting to go down without a fight and certainly not making it easy. Still, by the time the sun set, her renovations were complete, and her home was almost completely and totally draft proof, while still being able to take in fresh air should she light a fire. The fresh smell of cedar filled the cave, and for the first time on this island, Ocean felt truly happy.

The same could not be said for two of the other islanders, who at that moment were running for their lives.

 _S_ _omewhere in Russia._

A peasant stumbled forward, feet struggling to gain traction on the icy road. His family trailed behind him, his wife carrying their smallest child, a three year old who had become too chilled to even pretend to walk anymore. Behind her was his eldest daughter, Maria, after a european he had heard from somewhere. She was his pride and joy. Only she had survived the past ten years of life, unlike her four unborn brothers. She was going on twelve now, and had been a vital help in sneaking off of their fief.

The taxes on their homeland were too much for them to bear, so they had traded everything away, even to his son's crib. They had just enough money to book passage to some other country, if the price was right, and start a new life. He had heard that perhaps there could be work in the capital, but it was probably saturated, seeing from all the travelers they had passed on the road during their journey. Artur Mjolnir looked to the cloudy sky and prayed to his God to have mercy on him on their travels.

 **Review or the Wookie will rip your arms off. On that happy note, this chapter we are officially passing fifty thousand words. Whoot Whoot! Smiles.**

 **So, do you like the cliffhanger? See you next time.**


	13. The Nail In Our Coffins

**A/N:**

 **So, a quick news flash. I will be taking a three day hiatus Friday to Sunday from what is possibly my biggest cluster**** yet. This chapter. Also known as Chapter 13. Maybe there is something to those old superstitions. So sit back, relax, and enjoy my largest update yet. Yet. Woah boy.**

 **Unfortunately, Astrid won't be getting her soap any time soon. So close, but yet so far.**

 **Written while listening to** **Rise Against –** _ **The Violence,**_ **and** _ **The Game Has Changed,**_ **by Daft Punk, my favorite electro band.** **Does anyone even listen to this music.** **And of course,** _ **Pumping Adrenaline 1**_

 **Last chapter's riddle was solved by Dragon rider's fury, formerly -ThatGuyWho... really doesn't need to finish that line, probably. :-D. It was a clock.**

 **Enjoy your oatmeal raisin (bleugh) victory cookie.**

 **(::)**

 **To Harrypanther, who solved Chapter 11's riddle before it was even posted, a chocolate victory cookie. Enjoy.**

 **(::)**

 **New tradition. Whenever someone solves a riddle, their victory cookie will be their favorite flavor. I prefer maple personally, but that's just my humble opinion.**

 **Riddle.**

 **What is a sycophant?**

 **Answer correctly and your victory cookie will be your favorite kind, if specified.**

 **I am a full-fledged beta now! Whoot! That's all for now, B. Avar out.**

 **Changelog - April 15th, 2019 - of course it had to be on a Monday.**

 **I give up! I give up I give up I give up. There is NO SAVING THIS CHAPTER! Past 2018 me was so crap at writing that 2019 me is completely unable to salvage this piece of junk. There, I said it. I'm doing a rework of the rest of the fic. But this? Aside from splitting the paragraphs a little so that the average person can read it without special reading glasses to prevent them from getting a headache from reading this trash, there's nothing I can do. Maybe 2020 me will be able to rectify what's going on here, but 18 year old 2019 me won't bother.**

 **Read at your own risk.**

* * *

I looked at my work laying there so innocently on the bench, wondering how such a simple thing could be so difficult to make. It was a bowl clearly, but the rim was jagged and filled with splinters waiting to impale themselves on me should I slip while carrying it. The inside was unshaven and coarse, but at least I'd been able to sand the outside of it with the sharpener I used for my knife, which worked well enough. For pine wood this stuff was very hard to carve. You'd expect this kind of behavior from their needles, not the wood. Using my dagger on it was like trying to cut a rock with a dull saw blade.

Eventually I'd carved out a divot in it, and chipped away from there, making a little progress. Not without the hard spikes of the knob carving a hole in me first. Now I was done with it, but by that time Hiccup had already been back for thirty minutes or so, trying not to laugh. I was wrestling with the evil wood! Why is that so funny? Although some part of me admitted that it must have looked hilarious, I didn't want to say that out loud, so I just sulked, not really doing anything productive.

I looked over my shoulder, feeling that someone was looking at me. Hiccup had stopped laughing and was stealing concerned glances at my back, but when we made eye contact he blushed and looked away, trying to make it like we'd never seen each other. We sat there, not really knowing what to do, until my cuts began to itch and I rubbed the skin around them, trying to distract myself from the situation at hand. Hiccup began to ease up too, for he took the ashes he'd piled up earlier in the fire and cupped them in his hands.

"A little help here?" he said, shaking his filled hands a little.

"Fine." I said, "But you'll have to come over here first."

"Getting lazy are we? Wouldn't want that to happen." He put the ashes in my crude bowl, then reached for some of the last clean snow close to us, wedged up in a corner. Excoriating it wasn't too hard, and soon he had taken some of the heating stones out of the fire and placed the bowl on them. It browned heavily, but fortunately didn't catch.

"Did I do it right?" He asked me.

I shrugged. I really couldn't remember how to make soap. It had seemed such a short time since we had wrecked here, but we couldn't have been away from civilization for so long that we were forgetting the basics, right? Hiccup answered my questions, at least one of them, when he spoke up.

"It's only been six days, but it feels much longer than that."

"Six days doesn't feel right to me." I said

"But I notched first thing in the morning." Oh.

"And I made another one while you were away."

"I'll find a new stick while this is cooking up then." he said in a firm voice. "Don't want to run the risk of messing up again. It's too easy to lose track of time here, all alone."

I threw one to him that was on the wood pile, some of which was right next to me. There wasn't going to be any real snow from Hiccup's predictions, so some days we indulged ourselves and moved the day's fuel out of the shelter early. He caught it with grace and sat down, holding his hand out. I gave the knife to him and he made five notches, from the bark, almost to the core of the bough, then stripped off the extra layers that had been sloughing off slowly, which was all stripped and thrown to the fire, which blazed happily and then settled down to it's usual state of comatose embers.

I watched the snow become transparent as it slowly melted, accelerating faster and faster until it turned into a grey puddle at the bottom of the bowl, nowhere close to filling it up. Hiccup got up to find some more snow away from the fire, for we always made sure that our surroundings were never wet, hypothermia being the problem it was up here in the cold northern winter. He brought some in his fingers and dumped it, then warmed his fingers over the fire, looking over at our tent as he did so. I knew the reason very well. He had tried to make gloves overnight, but it hadn't worked out and he ended up wasting some good sinew. Now he was wishing that he'd managed to make it work out and now I had to distract him before he kicked himself too hard.

"I could teach you how to sew better." I offered.

"It's not my skills, it's the needle. Rabbit bone just isn't cutting it any more." he said, then added after some thought, for his mouth worked a little and his hand went to his chin, "Did you see any deer antlers though. While you were hunting?"

"Up near the hill, yes. After we found the iron I did a little scouting around."

"I'll get them this afternoon then."

"I could do it."

"You're a better hunter than me, and you'll need the space to carry stuff home, space that would be taken up by giant deer horns. Besides, I didn't catch very many fish. Only two, and I think they're the stragglers of the migration. We're going to need more food than that if we want to make it till spring without our ribs poking out like spines."

It was meant to be a joke, but the possibility was all too real to be dismissed, and we sat in morbid silence for a time, Hiccup checking the lye solution every so often.

"Maybe that wasn't exactly the right thing to say." he said sheepishly.

I ignored him and stretched out my legs, which I couldn't feel very well any more. If we really were running out of food, I needed to be able to find more, and I couldn't do that with sleeping feet, at least not very well. I smiled inwardly at the thought, but it still didn't remove the morbid effects of Hiccup's bad joke. Our earlier conversation was nagging at me, and I wanted to say something, but my mouth refused to open, at least until I forced it to.

"You can't expect to get the antlers while you're making soap, Hiccup. I think I should do that. Besides, I'm bored."

"What are you talking about again?" asked Hiccup.

"The needles to make gloves."

"Oh, that. Getting food is more important, but I see your point. Take your knife with you just in case you see something." Left unsaid was that I might run into that dragon again, and perhaps not be so lucky. The incident had to be viewed as a fluke, there was no other way to see it, unless somehow the blood thirsty animals had suddenly all turned into giant chew toys or stuffed animals. It's impossible to know exactly what goes on in those big brains of theirs, which can sometimes weigh up to fifty pounds. Enough reminiscing, it's time to go.

I picked up my dagger, took my coat off its rung, where it was hanging by the scruff (you never knew how important the little things are until you don't have them), and trudged off to the hill, hoping that my memory served me well. If I was mistaken, well, Hiccup wouldn't want to be around for a bit. I didn't like wasting time. I finally managed to slip my arm into it's coat sleeve and then trudged out of camp, going straight ahead and feeling the ground rise underneath my feet, pushing the trees higher and higher in front of me. A few trenches dug by earlier snow melts exposed some of the roots, some of which were swollen with water. They reached down into the ground, passing through the snow, which was covered in twigs and other tiny pieces of the forest.

The frozen remains of a mushroom poked out of a fallen log that had been struck by lightning, as I could see from the black marks that spread out like the veins in a plant leaf, coming up from both sides, both top and bottom, where Midgard's earth had come to meet the handicraft of Thor. Beneath it lay a small, unassuming hole, where a wood mouse had dug into the snow and made a tunnel, or some other closely related animal. As I watched a built up overhang of snow fell on the tunnel from a bough, rendering it useless. The branch snapped up, free of it's weight, and swung, whistling gaily as it passed through the air in a wild bid for freedom from the tree which held it in it's tyrannical grasp (I've always been a sucker for anthropomorphic characters).

I stopped to rest, leaning against the very same tree that had the rebellion problem. The offending branch hit another, peaceful citizen, and before I could move a load of snow was on it's way to my coat. Fun. Fortunately, not much made it down my shirt, and I was alright, if a little mad. If I'd had my axe I would have given the tree a nasty gash, in the bark of course, so as not to send more snow my way from the impact. Instead of following our usual path up the hill, I turned and walked perpendicular to the rise of the terrain, planning to run on the edge of the treeless border and thus find a rub line, where a buck would scratch off the itchy velvet. Usually they would come back to the same spot when they were about to shed their antlers, at least in my experience.

A gull's screech echoed off of the hills. Like the fish, it was the last straggler in nature's great exodus to the south. I watched the little black dot float away on the air currents, then wheel and swoop down again, only to rise on a gust. Then it disappeared behind the myriad of branches that covered the sky, and I lost sight of it in the great expanse of sky.

I returned to what I was supposed to be doing, searching for deer antlers, or even bones that wouldn't snap when knitting through any of the fur that we currently had. Soon I found a young sapling that had had all of its bark scraped off on one side, and some of the wood was damaged underneath its protective shell. There were no tracks for me follow, but I had been expecting that, the snow covering anything which stood open to the sky in a protective blanket, which made my job quite a bit harder, as antlers were, well, white. At the base of another trunk was a place where more of the bark had been taken, but a closer look revealed that it had been gnawed off by something small. I looked up at the actual tree and noted that it bore apples. Not that that would do me any good right now.

Having lost the trail, I went back to the original sapling, hoping to find some more clues. When I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, I struck out in a random direction, hoping to find anything that would point me the right way. The biggest organic thing I found in that part of the woods was a rabbit carcass, picked almost clean and with only its ribs and head sticking out of the snow. I made a big circle, fifty yards in diameter, hoping to see a trace that I might have missed earlier. Failing that, I returned to the original lead, then passed it, taking almost the exact opposite path that I had before, but with a small turn included.

This was on purpose, as the possibility that this was the first tree on the velvet run was small enough to be almost completely discounted. I walked about a hundred yards, but found nothing. I was about to give up and find new territory, frustrated by my error, when I saw another tree with a scrape on it. I made a large circle around it, but I only completed a quarter, because I'd found another one. Finding the general direction of the line was easy enough, and soon I was trudging along, passing a velveted tree about every hundred feet or so. That might sound small, but in the woods it's easy to lose your sense of distance. But I didn't find any antlers, and my previous elation turned into disgust. The buck that had made this line had curved downhill to avoid the windward side of the hill, and now I was walking in the deep forest with only the crunch of my own boots to keep me company.

A rustle shook the silent tree tops, and I paused, ready to draw my dagger at need. A brown patch that seemed to float above the snow caught my interest, and I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Suddenly it hopped. I had forgotten some of my most basic lessons about small game, at least about rabbits. I almost laughed out loud. See, in the wintertime some animals will shed their old coats and grow one made of white instead, because their summer and fall colors stick out like a sore thumb in the snow. I was looking at a rabbit that hadn't lost all of it's old fur yet, and it had still fooled me. At the moment it was only ten or fifteen yards away, a perfect bow shot for any skilled hunter. If only I had one of the weapons. Not wanting to risk throwing my dagger and losing it in the snow for a chance at it, I stomped on the powder, making a loud, ringing noise that didn't quite echo but was still loud enough for any animal but a deaf one to hear for a mile. Sure enough, it ran away while I watched. Part of my mind whispered to me that I should have taken the shot, that my aim was too good to miss, but with the cold clamping on my fingers I couldn't be sure that I'd hit.

Frustrated, I kicked the snow in a random spot, hoping to find something by chance. My foot found a rock, but my spiked boot dug into the ground and flipped the little thing up and over onto its side a few feet away, causing a plume of snow to fly up and make little dimples in the snow where the tiny flakes had hit. But in one particular spot it seemed to outline something. My feet were weary, and I made no haste in getting to the place. Brushing away the snow with my finger really made me wish that I had gloves. But there in the snow lay a huge antler, though it was only half of a normal buck's rack, it would still serve my purpose. It was perhaps two feet tall, but only about six inches wide. Now to carry it home in the cold without gloves. Fun. I might as well have stayed home, but that would just be putting off vital action. Besides, if I didn't take it, the rodents would eat the calcium rich bone for the nutrients, which was probably already happening. I turned it over and inspected it, and was pleased to see no bite marks marring the surface. At least this would make Hiccup happy, if nothing else.

He would be done with the soap by now at least, that was the good news if my memory served me rightly. We didn't have the equipment to make any hard bars, so we'd have to contend with the soft, pudgy stuff, at least for now. The problem with that kind was that it smelled awful, and we'd have to keep the fire up for a long time, just to drown out the stench with wood smoke and ashes. Ironically, I'd have to get the scent out of my clothes using that very same soap. The thought of a nice bath after… what, almost two weeks since our last wash day, because of the length of the voyage? Come to think of it, we missed Laudgardur at the Meatheads too. First two weeks without a cleanse and then a shipwreck on an island filled with sick dragons. Tell me we haven't been jinxed by some witch and I might not believe you, because our bad luck definitely seemed a little over the top for it to be only a normal occurrence.

A bony antler pricked me behind the jaw and dumped all of those thoughts out of my ears. I shifted it from my shoulder to the crotch of my left arm and left it there, but it wasn't done yet. When I stepped forwards, the huge thing poked me in the back of my thigh. The more I tried to ignore it, push it out of my head, the more I felt that dull itching sensation wherever it chose to poke me. I shifted it around to whatever position felt more comfortable, but it kept getting in the way. After a while I just gave up and put it on the top of my head, where it was still swinging back and hooking my coat. I didn't have the energy to move it from up there, so I left it on the top of my skull as I dragged my (poked) feet along the home stretch. At least the torture would be over soon and I would get some much needed rest. I might have to hunt at some point, yes, but it would only be a short break. Hopefully. Those things had a habit of turning into naps, which turned into overnights, which turned into 'where did the time go?', when you woke up in the midmorning well after sunrise.

Sure enough, a rotten milk smell curdled my nose as I got closer to home, and I wrinkled it, which was hard because of all the frozen mucus up my nostrils and even sinuses. Have I ever mentioned that I don't like winter before? No, no apparently I haven't, because it's still freezing out here. I sighed as I trudged into camp, setting down the antlers I had spent so much time and energy to find on one of the two makeshift benches we had, the other being in the tent where Hiccup had put it.

On the bench was group of relatively clean leaves, wrapping something square and cube like in a coat of brown. It didn't smell very good though. A bowl, my bowl, was cooking up more of it over the fire, while more clean leaves decorated the adjacent rocks, which were more grey than usual with soot and needed a good scrubbing. In the center of it all was Hiccup, weaving something together using maple withes, those long feeler branches that lend themselves so well to that craft. He looked up, saw that I was present, and went back to his work, presumably to finish what he was working on, as it looked nearly done from what I could see, which was not very much because his arms were in the way and I could only see part of the webbing. It looked like a trap of some kind, but I was too tired to ask him about it for now. Other than that camp hadn't changed much on the surface, other than the general pile up of junk that comes with civilization. Hey, at least we're coming up on the charts now. At some point it would reach the point where we would need to do a spring cleaning, but that was a long time away, and I only let it nag a dark, dusty corner of my mind where I didn't often look.

Well, there was one thing that had changed. There was no snow on the ground inside the cove, and I kicked off my boots to find that the ground was pleasantly dry and while not warm to the touch, was not cold either. That was nice to know, I thought as I moved my boots from where they had landed on the floor (muppet me), to right on the doorstep of the fire so they could steam off the excess moisture trapped in their soles. At that moment Hiccup set aside his contraption and hunched up next to me, warming his hands with the air currents like me. He glanced over at the table and saw the antlers. The next thing I knew he was giving me a discreet thumbs up. I mirrored him, and then bumped his fist gently, just because. We both smiled at each other and for a moment it was just me and him.

"Are you alright? You took a long time getting back and I was getting a little worried." he said.

"Don't worry about me. You know I can handle myself."

"But you can't handle me and my madness."

Neither of us moved, until I released a breath I hadn't even known I was holding. He turned away, and the schism shattered between us, letting me finally breathe. We were so close, and then we pulled away, just to give ourselves some space. Where once I had wanted to talk to him, now we had an… understanding between our minds. Without speaking, Hiccup took the trap, for that was what it was, and baited it with a special kind of moss.

He left it on the ground there, and reached for my hand. He was obviously taking me somewhere. I took it easily, and he pulled me up from where I sat.

"I know a better place to be." he said, lightly jumping onto the ledge next to Protection Rock as he did so. For the first time I could see that there was a large cleft on top of the boulder, with just enough space for two, maybe three with a squeeze.

"Wanna come?"

I stepped up before him, and found the most comfortable place.

"Hey, that's my spot." he said, climbing up after me, but there was no edge in his voice.

The view was beautiful, and I wondered why I had never come up there before. I turned and to my right was a white glade, filled with the sweet smelling air. To my left was the forest, with tiny ice crystals hanging on the branches like little snow globes. Behind me was a downward slope that lead to a flat plain, from which fell steep, yet not tall cliffs. The ground filled everything and the earth was everywhere, making this part of the world timeless. I wanted to take this little island and keep it forever.

A song, out of place yet perfectly in harmony, came to my lips, and I let myself sing, softly. There were more verses than what you see, but this is all I remember of it.

 _Summer in the hills,_

 _Those hazy days I do remember,_

 _We were running still,_

 _Had the whole world at our feet,_

 _Watching seasons change,_

 _Our roads were lined with adventure,_

 _Mountains in the way,_

 _Couldn't keep us from the sea,_

 _Here we stand open arms,_

 _This is home where we are,_

 _Ever strong in the world that we made,_

 _I still hear you in the breeze,_

 _See your shadows in the trees,_

 _Holding on memories never change."_

We sang on for a long time, until eventually the world became grayer, and I fell asleep in Hiccup's arms. I dimly remember him carrying me down to the house and laying me down, but that is where I fell asleep.

My eyes fluttered open early the next morning, with light gently streaming in, the sun's light reflected by the white snow awaking me. I took my time rising, for I felt none of the usual need to stretch. Hiccup wasn't there, and neither (when I looked out at camp) was his trap. He must have already gone hunting. It grew momentarily darker as a cloud passed in front of the sun and blocked its radiance, but for now the weather remained stubbornly clear, for only the third time in all of my experience on the island. The remnants of his breakfast were next to my bed where he had set them, and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had dinner the night before. There was even a roughly carved wooden fork there for me to eat with, complete with a flowery swirl etched into its surface. I ate with gusto, for today was going to be a great day, I could feel it in my bones. It was a warm day too, for some of the snow on the roof of the lean-to was dripping through the cracks or falling off the rafters and onto the ground. The fire crackled occasionally, but it was nowhere near as vibrant or noticeable as last night.

I threw off the woven hemlock blanket and looked around. There were my boots, also next to my bed, though not so close that I could trip over them, and yet close enough to reach without straining my arms. The morning of the sixth day had arrived, and I was ready for it. On the workbench lay two soft bars of soap and some water which was still warm when I dipped my finger in it, meaning that Hiccup had only left a few minutes ago. I washed my face thankfully and wiped it on my shirt, for which there was a hasty fur patch laying on the bench also, as a small tear had opened in my sleeve. A tiny needle with equally tiny thread also lay there, both of them moist, so that the cloth would seal when it dried after the patching business.

Mending my shirt was easy, and it was almost as good as new in only a couple of minutes. I had to say, his skill set was impressive. What else had he done during the night? I stepped out of the tent, and I had to rub my eyes to let them adjust to the thousand beams of light shooting into them. Remember those ice crystals I was talking about earlier? Now each of them flashed with the brightness of the sun, creating a brilliant gallery, shaking in the dull wind and tinkling like an so many wind chimes back home. It was dazzling, bright and fantastic all at the same time, and maybe a little more. I tried to concentrate on what else had changed, but my eyes wanted to pay attention to the ice and nothing else. I forced them down and started to take stock of our camp. There was more wood under the covering, that was for sure, though the snow melt was giving the waterproof job that Hiccup had done on it a run for its money. The soft plop of a falling water droplet sounded every so often, giving the scene a more down to Midgard feeling, but that wasn't even the best part.

A bow, just my size, lay on the outside workbench with ten perfectly crafted arrows laying right next to it, already strung tightly with sinew. I glossed over it's shape and all of the details. It was almost five feet long and would be almost as tall as me should I stand it on the ground with the end down. The binding that held the cord to the bow looked well reinforced, and when I inspected the wood itself the heart and sap were in their right positions, with the inner core holding it all in place. The arrows glinted wickedly in the morning light, their sharp but not serrated edges able to cut a hair, not that we had any beards in need of shaving. Their shafts looked almost like they had been cut from port cedar, the best kind for arrows, as it kept its form well and was not affected by the weather, wet or dry. Several broad feathers were driven into the back of the things, just in front of the end of the stick. Where had Hiccup found this much quality wood and flint? And when would he have had the time to actually make this thing? If it was meant to be a surprise gift, he had certainly kept it secret well enough. Unfortunately he must not have had very much leather, for there was no belt or quiver, and the heads were not shielded. Still, it was his way of saying thank you, and who was I to turn down a free present. But first, a few practice shots to get the hang of it, for there was no point in standing around. Yes, I do have impatience issues, as Hiccup says, but I'll be an old woman when I finally tell him that.

I grabbed it with my left hand, which melded well with the design, allowing me to bring it to heel, perpendicular to the ground. I pulled back the string experimentally. While it was animal-based and would be liable to cause problems in the future. For now, it decided to behave, and as I felt the power of the weapon, tensing underneath my hand. It was better than any other bow I had ever owned, given I had never owned one, and felt almost as intuitive as my axe. Almost. Given our resources however, I wasn't inclined to complain, at least not much. I played around with it for a little while longer until finally putting an arrow to the string, pulling back slowly, still testing the limits of this new machine. My hands shook almost imperceptibly as the fletching tickled my nose, waiting for an unseen signal, restless and waiting to release. Then the sound of a small water droplet hit my ears, and was drowned out by the whish-smack of the arrow flying off of the string and the bow snapping back and hitting the air. I watched, the world almost in slow motion as I watched the shockwave of the speeding projectile, the feathers guiding it onto it's target, an oak tree of considerable size. The shot felt natural, almost as if it was an extension of my body and not just a conglomeration of various natural materials powered by my energy. Speaking of which, all that energy had to go somewhere, and it was dispersed as the broadhead embedded itself deep within the center of the tree, almost a foot deep, burying more than a third of the arrow with it and making the feathers thrash around wildly for several seconds with an insistent buzzing noise, like that of a yak-fly. Note to self, do not shoot arrows at trees, at least not with that much power, or you might break something.

The world returned to real time soon after, and I realized that the tree was actually a good thirty yards away, pretty far for a first time bullseye on such a distant target. Now the only thing to do was get the arrow out, no mean task, for arrowheads were designed to stick, and if Hiccup was as experienced with that part of making bows as he was with the rest, well, this could take a while. It eventually ended sucking up almost half an hour of good time, as well as costing me the arrow, for the shaft splintered when I tried to wrench the head free. I grunted and tossed it into the camp woodpile next to our other firelighters, ashamed to waste flint of such good quality. Where had he gotten the stuff from, anyway? Especially without telling me about it too. Making sure that the camp was in order, I burned the bones from the morning meal, since we didn't have a pot, fed wood to the fire, and put on my coat, not taking any tinder or even a sparker with me, as we'd come to call them, as I already had my arrowheads and the dagger, and besides, I didn't plan to stay out long.

With that I tempered my bouncing step to avoid tiring myself out before the real game, and took to the forest like a deer, with only my tracks to say that I had been there, and my scent had been partially washed out by the soap, though any wild animal that claimed to have a good nose would still smell me if the wind was right. At least it felt better to have all that grime off.

Keeping the bow in my left hand, and keeping it clear of brush, I walked with a quick gait, but not too quick lest my boots inhale snow again. Tripping wouldn't be any run either, what with the snow being wet today, so I kept an eye out for any slippery rocks, and really anything else too. The moss that was still hanging on was shining vibrantly with clear water, the pure liquid dripping onto the snow not with a 'plop', but with a 'plosh' instead, forming icicles that I could see my (distorted) reflection in as I looked on. I saw nothing other than that until a little mouse not even the size of my fist shook itself off, sending droplets into the air, some even landing on my boot, which I ignored. The small being groomed it's whiskers with pride, and I noted how it's pink tail, which was hairless, seemed to not freeze.

I had no more chance to study it, as even as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, seeming to vanish into an unseen tunnel. I looked up from the distraction at a rustle, and saw from the corner of my eye that it was only some snow falling onto a cocklebur, which were surprisingly rare around here, even for our home. The only place I had ever seen them en' masse was at the Meathead island when I went on that disastrous trip. Now that I think about it, it's kind of odd that we left as late in the season as we did. I shrugged. I'd have to ask someone about that when we got back. An underling perhaps, a navigator maybe. I didn't want to acquire a reputation for snooping around, but it did seem a little wrong to me.

A little imprint in the snow attracted my attention, and I came closer, hunched so that I could inspect it in detail. It turned out to just be the place where a snowdrop had fallen and made a hole that only looked like a rabbit track. I sighed. Oh well. It's not like there's a thousand more rabbits running around in the woods anyway, hopping really, but that's just a technicality for a later date. Right now it seemed that all the game in the forest had disappeared into some magical place, because no matter how hard I hunted or followed the tracks, I never saw another animal bigger than a crow. And that inconsiderate chump dropped a pine cone on my head, courtesy of his excellent 'manners'.

Maybe Hiccup was having some better luck. One could only hope, but what with all the game acting so mysteriously spooked, I'd be surprised if he'd catch anything today. Naturally, I'd just gotten a bow, and _then_ all the rabbits vanished into their holes just like that. I hadn't even seen any deer tracks all day, and if there had been some in the morning, they must have been smudged over, because I didn't find anything of that sort in my neck of the woods. It took me almost two hours just to inspect one mile, I was doing it so carefully, and I still couldn't find anything less than three hours old. Well, not nothing. A lithe bobcat had been watching me from the crotch of a tree, and I only noticed him when he yawned, opening his red mouth wide and exposing his cherry red tongue. He was probably taking a catnap and had just heard me stomping along like a drum, what with those big ears of his, and had decided to investigate. Gracefully he sat up and began cleaning off his fur with his paws, talons not extended but still showing underneath the tawny skin. I had half a mind to kill him and eliminate the competition for our resources and perhaps get the pelt, but to my knowledge he hadn't done anything wrong, yet. I'd keep an eye on the meat back at camp for a while. I decided not to bother him, but at the same time keep an eye on the big cat. When I turned away I could see him grinning at me over his shoulder, then putting a paw over his eyes so that he could go back to sleep. I considered going back home, just to rest up, but denied myself the opportunity. I would not get lazy, not with our very lives at stake. Just because there was nice weather now didn't mean that there would be nice weather later, I regaled, and I'd better take advantage of the situation while it lasted.

I jumped down into a small depression caused by the winter melt. While gully's and channels sometimes formed out here, a thick layer of moss and leaves would always trap the water and absorb it, releasing it slowly over the summer months. That kind of thing usually happened when there was a wildfire, and from the looks of the trees, events of that sort hadn't happened here for many years. A honeycomb of fallen saplings blocked my way, but I vaulted through them, exploiting the many gaps in the myriad combination to get through safely. Once I was on the other side I turned and looked back to see what had even caused that mess. The ground around the bases of the trees was covered in flecks of frozen dirt, much of which was mixing with the snow, which seemed more watery around there. In fact, the trunks all showed signs of water damage. The roots must have gotten loose during a bad rain, and something had caused them to fall over. Not in the market for looking at dead or dying plants anymore, I climbed out of the gully and started to walk within the real deal.

Threading my way gingerly through the trees, with not a man or his makings in sight, felt oddly wonderful to me,, and I marveled at all the things I hadn't noticed before. The way a branch would bend and twist to get into the light, for example, and still remain closer to the trunk. The thousands of hibernating beetles hidden inside every log that I so much as cracked the bark open on. I had seen these things before, but I had not really seen. I had just been dimly aware of everything. It was like I could feel the beating heart of the earth, and subsequently every disturbance in it. I saw something that looked like it was out of place, a brown shape behind one of the bushes. I could have dismissed it as another mouse, but something else told me to take a closer look.

I crouched and began to approach quietly, with my left hand gripping the bow and my right fingering one of the arrows that I had belted to my coat, rather crudely compared to what Hiccup could have made, I thought with chagrin, and a lot slower than a quiver should I need to make a fast draw in case of an emergency. I intentionally turned at a slight angle, to make it look like I had lost the trail of whatever I was hunting, most likely a rabbit, which was the only thing small enough to fit behind that tiny bush.

Not looking at your prey directly made it look, to them at least, like they had not been seen, and if you did it right, you could even come within spear range of a partridge, albeit with more time and patience than I had at my disposal. Keeping the… ear, for that was what it was, in the peripherals of my vision, I shuffled along quietly, smiling to no one in particular but myself when it flicked a little. Still not looking at it directly, I came closer to the animal. If it happened to be a deer, it certainly wasn't a buck, for at this distance I would have been able to see the antlers or perhaps their stubs if they had been shed already, which some of them had been, as I had seen earlier.

Once I judged I was close enough, I intentionally stepped on a rather large stick to see if I could flush it out. Frustratingly, it refused to break. I kicked up some snow anyway, and the animal twitched. I picked up the stick and tossed it against a tree, where it broke with a soddened thud, as it was impregnated with water. The animal shot up and in an instant I saw that it was a deer, a magnificent doe, though not with fawn. Good. Even though it would have been necessary, I saddened when I had to kill unborn animals just for their mother. I found the bow automatically held in front of me, my hand poised to draw. You see, deer's eyes are optimized to see motion, and with my ragtag clothes on, she must not have been able to make me out clearly as long as I didn't stir.

While I was frozen in place, I was contemplating the best way to get the arrows out of the makeshift belt, which was not serving it's purpose well at all. My arms were still fresh and I felt that with an arrow in my hands, I would be able to easily take it down. If I pulled them head first out of the belt, I would run the risk of losing the feathers, but at this range it wouldn't be such a problem, the doe standing stupidly less than a stone's toss away, making an easy broadside target for all but the most inexperienced archers. I reached slowly for my sash, watching the deer as I did so. It tensed, but remained rooted to the spot without trying to flee.

Suddenly I pulled the arrow out of the sash and held it in my right hand, which was drawing it quickly up to my nose, which was harder then I'd imagined it would be. Thankfully I hadn't lost any of the fletchings. The doe leaped away, but I did not loose my weapon, knowing full well that I had only one good shot and I couldn't waste it. My stance was near perfect, once again the bow feeling like just another part of my body thanks to Hiccup's craftsmanship. I held my breath, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The unfortunate doe bounded high into the air, and I aimed slightly below it, and released. With it's now trademark whish-smack, the arrow _screamed_ towards it's target, going so fast that a tiny contrail formed behind it and curled away from the path like wisps of smoke, only without a fire to cause them. So fast that I struggled to see the arrow, though I had been holding it only a moment before. The broadhead entered the deer's chest and smashed straight through, leaving only a small entry hole. But I knew what would happen when it came out the other side. Immediately the animal staggered from the force behind the impact, which nearly knocked it over, the feathers of the projectile having completely disappeared into it's skin, such was the blow. It tried to regain it's balance, but the pain must have been too much and it's strength too little, for it just gurgled and sank to the forest floor. I looked at my bow with interest, then looked back at the doe, seeing the damage compared to the relatively small arrow. Normally I was hit or miss with these things, but this one was special. It needed a name worthy of the marvelous design and massive power it had revealed to me. I rolled some around on my tongue.

Ghost? No. Too generic. Hunter? Better, but still not great. I could sit there and debate with myself for hours, but I didn't want to spend the time doing it. Hopefully I'd come up with a moniker sometime in the future.

Not worried about bloating for the moment, as it was in the cold snow, I didn't bother to cut it open, which also ran the risk of letting dirt in from the environment, especially since I was certainly at least a mile from home. There was the arrow to be worried about too, and I went too see if I could recover it. Sure enough, it had passed straight through the flesh of the deer almost like it hadn't been there, although the exit wound was larger than the size of my fist. I did some estimation and, if my figures were right, it had gone roughly east after killing the deer. So what was there to do but follow it?

Sure enough, I found the place where it had entered the snow, and then I kicked around a bit, hoping to find it snagged on a random root. It wasn't there, and neither did the next ten feet yield anything. I know if I was off-track, for my shoes erased any trace of tunnels as soon as they uncovered them. Eventually I returned to the entry point, thoroughly puzzled. I didn't want to lose it, for we only had ten, and I knew it was still intact. I cast my eyes over it's presumed path, hoping that they might find something. And find something they did. Ten yards away, my arrow lay on it's back, partially on top of the snow, shaft and head still intact, if a little bloody. It must've skittered thirty feet underneath the snow after it had entered, and then bounced high enough to get out, which was why I was even able to see it.

In deeper snow this could have been a nightmare to find and dig out. Fate was surely smiling upon me that day, and I wasn't about to inspect a gift horse from behind, so I dug the arrow out of the snow, wiped it off well, and put it back into my sash, an arrangement that I now highly detested.

Now the deer. If it had behooved me so to carry a pair of antlers (actually, only one set), then how would I move the whole thing. Turning it over so that the wide exit wound was on top and not dragging on the dirt wasn't too difficult, and pulling it a few dozen yards wasn't either. Only another mile and a half to go, I thought sarcastically. I took the head on my shoulders and started to make another drag, this time for a slightly shorter distance. That went on for a while, until I encountered the first major obstacle of many. A flat wall of rock, about seven feet tall and twenty feet long blocked the way home with its sheer bulk.

Pulling the deer all the way up was out of the question, as it probably weighed almost five hundred pounds, and besides, it was hard enough to drag it around, getting a good enough grip to heft it over a cliff. I didn't really want to go around, so I started looking for a better way up. Multiple tree roots had burrowed or broken through the granite and were poking out randomly like insect feelers. I must've scanned the wall three times, but there was no way directly up it for both me and my cargo to go up all at once. There weren't going to be any shortcuts.

The thing about time is that you can't stop it. Eventually if you try hard enough or hit your problem often enough (with an axe, not a hammer, thank you), you'll always succeed. Stoick's Nest hunts not included. I dragged the carcass along nearly twenty yards in the wrong direction before I found a dip in the wall, perhaps five feet in diameter and surrounded by sharp stubble that could perhaps damage my catch. First I scaled the incline and tried to pull the deer up by it's forelegs, but the weight was too much to lift, even for me. Then I jumped down and tried to shove it up from behind.

It seemed to be working, until I slipped on some grit and two hundred pounds of flesh came crashing down on me from above. The end result? A blood spattered and thoroughly frustrated Astrid who was no closer to home then when she had started. At least I had a name for my bow. _Silencer._ It was a good name that served it's purpose well, and sounded nice if I do say so myself. I'd stick with it.

The sun was waning steadily and the shadows were growing longer when I finally reached more familiar territory, with my stamina almost gone and my body screaming for a rest. I dropped the deer and leaned against a tree to get my breath, for I was badly winded.

"Need a little help with that? You've left a bloody trail that runs all over the woods." said a voice. I knew instantly who it was. Hiccup.

"Maybe."

He grabbed the hind legs and heaved.

"Who goes first?"

I shrugged, then picked up my end and trudged forward in front. Soon I passed one of our landmarks. We only had a quarter of a mile to go, but it would be a hard bought quarter, and none too easy to navigate, the forest having it's ways.

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at Protection Rock. Not a minute too soon either, for Hiccup wasn't looking too well, his face looking very red and maybe even puffy, you might say. We threw the carcass down and took a good breather once we got into camp, exhausted. It was late in the afternoon, but my brain felt like it had been years since I'd stepped out of the little glade that morning. The deer would still have to be skinned, or frozen until we chose to eat it of course, but for now we would be glad to only eat a part of the massive slab of venison, and hang up the rest for later processing.

The previously warm temperatures had fallen some, and a few ominous clouds covered half of the western sky, threatening to drop more snow on our heads. The sun reflected off their tops, diffusing into the air, creating a multicolored halo that spanned the sky like a thread of yarn, so thin and yet so wide and vivid. Underneath the floating masses I worked fervently to keep our only fresh venison from spoiling in the unusual heat of the winter thaw that had come. By now patches of brown grass had begun to poke through the melting layers, and camp, though not filled with water by all means, had started to take on a musty smell.

Thankfully all of the flies had been killed by the cold snap, otherwise we would have been miserable from their constant biting. Come to think of it, they would've spoiled the meat if we had left it out too long, so we were thankful for that as well. Today would be known as first venison day, and Hiccup had already extended the notch on the day stick to twice it's usual size to mark our celebration. I was trying to cut the haunch of the animal, with a little difficulty but more determination, and Hiccup had thrown some more oak onto the fire prematurely, so that it would cook properly.

And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Do you know that feeling, when your neck tingles, when you can tell that something isn't quite right, but it's impossible to pinpoint exactly what it is that's bothering you? I couldn't see what was wrong, but I trusted my danger sense enough to know that we could be in peril from some wild animal. Hiccup looked like he was feeling the same presence, for he was stealing concerned looks at the forest around us, trying to penetrate the depths of the trees, all to no avail I knew, for the brush was simply too thick, and there were too many places to hide in should someone wish us evil. I kept my bow within reach, just in case, and the hand that was cutting the doe was always ready to come out at a moment's notice.

Still, I doubted it would really come to anything. Some coyote scouting around, hoping to rush in and steal some of the meat from us most likely. We knew that they hung around on the island, so it wouldn't be too far of a stretch. Coyotes didn't attack vikings all that often though, and fire usually kept them away. Still, we would have to take precautions if we didn't want to have a large chunk of meat 'mysteriously' disappear during the late night and early morning, when the fire would have burnt down and we would be asleep and unable to prevent the theft. But I digress here.

By the time I had cut out a significant portion of venison, the cooking rocks (we didn't have a pan) were red hot, and I laid some of the delicious smelling meat on a slab to cook, all the while making small talk with Hiccup, of which there was plenty to go round.

The sun was almost below the horizon by the time we began to eat. Though not as brilliant a sunset as the night before, the marching line of clouds made for an impressive dinner that rounded off a good day. I looked forward to relaxing and discussing things with Hiccup before heading off to bed for a refreshing sleep. But still my spine tingled dangerously, and I found myself uneasy and not in the mood for much of anything.

A loud, hollow sound began to rise from the forest, deepening in tone, and prickling my skin so that the hairs on my scalp stood on end. It was unmistakably the call of a wolf, and it was very close. Another howl joined it, and soon the forest was ringing with their calls, calls that seemed to draw nearer and nearer with every second. Silently praying that they would pass us by, for we were in no condition to fight, we wasted no time in drawing our weapons, though they were small and unsuited to what faced us. I waited, standing my ground, with an arrow within easy reach and _Silencer_ poised to fire. It was better to be safe then sorry, as my aunt always said, although she was on my mother's side, not Finn's.

Then, like a candle silently lit, a pair of golden eyes appeared in the darkness ahead of us, then another pair, and another one, until five wolves stood in front of us, and more were baying in the distance. Hiccup summed up all of my thoughts.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

This was no time to be funny, but I smiled anyway. Hopefully they hadn't circled around us to attack from both directions. My hopes were dashed when I heard the tch tch tch of claws against stone, which meant that the wolves were probably attempting to find a foothold against Protection Rock.

"Stick with me. Don't show them fear." I told him, and he did, valiantly holding my knife in one hand while I covered the forest, ready to draw. I felt his fingers grasp mine and squeeze, and I squeezed back.

The leader of the pack stepped forward into the small circle of firelight, faintly back lighted by the light of dusk shining onto his tail like a hazy coat of blue paint. He was about chest hight for me, and his frame was well shaped and filled with muscles that rippled when he walked or so much as craned his neck. His lungs were well built, leading up to a huge jugular that powered jaws that looked like they could snap my arm in half and his fur shone with what can only be called gloss. He was colored mostly black, with a head like that on most wolves, just more powerful and perfectly shaped.

His eyes were piercing and saw everything in front of them with a surgical glance, wandering here and there, yet remarkably focused.

They were seeing me now, as he looked straight at me, and unconsciously we both began to participate in the ancient game of domination, each of us seeking to prove our superiority. The wolf's hair bristled while we fought without words, wanting to resolve this without a fight, but our pumping hearts betrayed us, ready for action if the situation need be. Adrenaline coursed through my veins while I surveyed my surroundings carefully, not wanting to trip on a wayward stone.

I did not avert my eyes from his, staring him down like a hawk, waiting to see if he would knuckle under and cow. But he owned the numbers advantage, and he knew it. So he stepped past me, making a beeline for the doe which I had killed and was now chilling in the evening air, along with a rabbit and some other assorted meat which was going to be smoked. I stepped in front of him, but he blithely passed me and attempted to go on. I stepped in front of him again, but he ignored me. This guy had some moxie to just barge into our home and steal our food, and if he knew what was good for him he would leave. Their alpha growled and shoved me aside, once again heading for our food. Now he was just overstepping his boundaries.

I slugged him what would normally be a knockout blow in the nose, and the fight was on. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed, as if surprised. Then he threw his head up and howled fit to shatter a window. The other members of the pack answered him and sprang forward with their teeth bared, glinting wickedly against the dull setting of our camp. It happened so fast that it was overwhelming, but I had been in dragon raids before, and I knew how to keep my cool. Hiccup, not so much. With a shock I realized that keeping up with the alpha had isolated him and he was now an easy kill for anything that so much as looked at him the wrong way. Looking over, I saw that the wolves seemed to flow around him without leaving so much as a scratch.

The alpha had disappeared and I couldn't see him in my limited frame of vision. At the same time half of the pack was scrambling down off of the rocks in the cove, having climbed over them at their leader's call to arms. The scene was one of chaos as at least ten wolves were bounding through our camp, knocking over everything and turning what had been an organized home into a mess. Their barking and whining was terrible to hear, and was second only in noise to a dragon raid. In the heat of the action the unfamiliar weapon was a detriment, and as I drew an arrow to the string and let go, I knew it would miss.

The whish-smack of _Silencer_ got the wolves attention, as if they'd never seen a bow before. The wolf I'd been aiming at, a medium sized black chestnut which had been running broadside to me, stopped, and the arrow which had been wobbling out of control before was now suddenly on target. It slammed into it's target near one of the leg arteries, hitting the bone and causing dark red blood to spurt out almost a foot into the snow, almost like yak cream being poured into a cup. It howled in pain and leaped away, losing it's balance and falling, though it was still alive, I doubted it would live without becoming permanently crippled. The satisfaction of seeing it fall wasn't as relevant as the need to find another target, so I drew another arrow to the string, this time with better form, and took aim, this time at a large grey that was helping another pull off a chunk of meat.

Another whish-smack shattered the cacophony, but I just wasn't familiar enough with _Silencer_ to score good hits with it. The arrow missed it's back by a hairs breadth and went on to hit Protection Rock, shattering the flint head and leaving the shaft to fall harmlessly to the ground with a thud. I winced. Every miss counted against us in a game where we were outnumbered eleven to one (I'm not sure Hiccup counts). Our only hope was to make them realize that our food stores were not worth running the gauntlet beneath my debatable marksmanship.

By now the pack was beginning to catch on to the strange projectiles that were hitting them, and three of their biggest were already loping towards me, among them their leader. I can only assume that they smelled human scent on my arrows, otherwise I might have been able to kill them all had I only been given enough ammunition. Without my dagger to defend myself with, I had to make this shot count. The alpha stood head and shoulders above the others, but he was moving faster than the others as well, so that actually hitting him would be a challenge. The wolf at his right split from the formation, as did the one on his left in a classic encirclement tactic that would pin me down at a range where my bow would be useless.

What about Hiccup? I stole a quick look at him and saw that he was alright, if a little afraid. He'd held his ground with his back against the wall, afraid to go into the maelstrom that was the center of camp with only a dagger in his untrained hands. I grimaced. They had probably gotten into the main food stores already too. But now the alpha was close enough for me to see the whites, or in this case the greens, of his eyes, giving me a generous profile with his chest entirely exposed. I couldn't have gotten a better shot if I'd tried.

I pulled back the string as far as it would go, almost past my head, feeling the raw power of it's held back energy. Whish-smack! The arrow sped towards his neck, and once again time seemed to slow down. The two wolves on either side of him leaped at me with a roar, but it was too late to save the alpha, as I watched white wisps form behind the screaming black mass. It was like a man crushing a worm, for all his muscles and brawn couldn't save him from the well-placed force that was now kicking him back like a boulder from a catapult. The arrow buried itself up to the feather in his neck and crushed his windpipe, and that was the end for him.

But recognizing that he was surely doomed, and that death would come to him that night, he howled one last time, until his mouth was choked in blood so much so that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think from the pain, all he could do was howl like a banshee until he died like just another animal.

Instantly all of the other wolves dropped everything and charged at us, wont to avenge the fall of their comrade. Alas, us included Hiccup, and he was now isolated and backed against a rock wall with no conceivable escape. For now I had my own problems. One of the grays that had accompanied the alpha had left to nuzzle his dead body, presumably his mate. The other was still running towards me at top speed with deadly intent visible in his eyes. I fumbled with my arrow, but he was just too close. I dropped my bow, but not my arrows, which I held above my head. The moment he came too close, I'd stab him. Not the best weapon, but it would be better than nothing when push came to shove. I watched as the wolf gathered himself for the spring, his well oiled skin showing the muscles coiling themselves like the cat chasing a mouse under the carpet.

When he leaped, I was ready for it. He made an ill-coordinated jump, trying to pin me down, but he should've known that I was quicker than that. I scrambled to the side, and sunk a barb into his massive shoulder, which was now glossed with blood from the injury. But the arrow haft was not strong enough to support such twisting forces, and it snapped in two, giving me a long cut on my palm from one of the flying splinters that itched like the devil. I rolled away and stood up on all two legs, my bow near at hand where it lay from when I had thrown it, and another arrow already in my hands, there being no time for a proper shot. But even as I prepared to fight with my teeth if I had to, more wolves were on my case, and in ten seconds I would be totally overwhelmed.

"Run!" shouted Hiccup. "You can't hold them off forever."

I risked a tiny glance over my shoulder. Hiccup had somehow climbed over the rock wall and the wolves had not been able to follow him. Right now he was on the outside of the cove with my dagger hanging uselessly at his side. I could just barely see his shape outlined against the night sky, beckoning to me. I looked back at the wolves. Half the pack was closing in on me now, the other half either having taken the meat or been killed. Hiccup was right, this was a fight we could not win. I grabbed my bow off the ground and bolted towards the exit, but not before the gray I had hit scored a neat scratch on my right arm that didn't help things. I punched him for his efforts.

My hand met an outstretched arm that pulled me from danger, at least for the moment. We didn't waste any time looking back and booked it for the forest, with the wolves nipping at our heels. They weren't playing around either, their great strides covering five yards with every bound, and soon they had almost caught up to us.

"Why do they want to kill us so much? You'd think they would've stopped chasing us by now." said Hiccup between breaths.

"Revenge, I think."

"For what?"

"I killed the big black one. Must've been their leader." I said as a hungry pair of teeth nearly found a home in my heel.

"No kidding." Hiccup mumbled something else under his breath, but I didn't quite catch it.

Now was not the time for that however, as any extra effort on our part would just slow us down. Already my lungs were… tightening so that every breath was harder than the last. My mouth became sour, and a burning spit was pooling in my teeth and coating my throat in a choking vapor, never mind my tongue, which had become totally numb, and my jaw which had been hanging slack for so long in a bid to inhale more air, was now sore from all the shaking which the running had caused. I coughed and nearly turned my ankle on a log while I was distracted. A moment later Hiccup did the same. Our stamina was running out, and the wolves were almost done with us. They must have been playing with our lives, thinking that on a small, uninhabited island like this there was no refuge for us. Alas, that was closer to the truth then I had originally thought. They were so close behind us that we did not dare stop and fight, nor even attempt to climb the trees which would provide protection.

Even the minuscule light of the falling sun had been completely blotted out, and we were running blind through a hazard filled forest. Night in the archipelago comes quickly, and sometimes it can be so dark that the air is almost a tangible weight that fills the air, grabbing onto our limbs like glue.

"Turn around! I have a plan."

"To shoot them in the face? Because that would be really.." Hiccup wheezed painfully. "helpful right now!"

Perhaps there was a better way to do this. I reached out to Hiccup, and while I couldn't see him, I still had a rough idea of where he was, from feeling more than anything else. I found his shoulder and traced it down to his hand.

"Just turn around! We don't have any time for any backtalk. Our lives are on the line here!" I yelled back.

"As if I didn't already know that."

"It's better than nothing."

Before he could resist, I yanked his arm so that he spun backwards, almost losing his balance, but my firm grip steadied him. Only having my right arm free was proving to be quite the challenge, but I gently lowered him to the forest floor, though I did it as quickly as possible. Then I lay down flat, keeping a hand on Hiccup's mouth so that he wouldn't cry out. My little scheme worked to perfection, as the wolves were mainly relying on their noses and their ears to follow us, the pitch black of the arctic night having concealed us from them. They swept our position like a summer thunderstorm. Just to keep them off our track for a little longer and buy us more time to escape, I threw a rock in a random direction to imitate the sounds of an escape. The pack bought the deception, as I could hear their barks shifting to what I judged was the south. It would only be a matter of time before they noticed we were gone and picked up the scent again, so moving was a matter of the highest priority.

I waited several seconds to make sure that no stragglers would come along and find our hiding spot, then sat up and looked around, Hiccup doing the same. It was hard to make out anything in spite of our best efforts, the moon, which was in it's last stages of waning, was not able to penetrate the clouds, and the world was dark. The body of the forest I could see, dimly backdropped against the inky night sky, but not much else.

"We need to climb." I said. "Wolves can't climb trees."

Alas, the woods here were of the worst sort, as we found to our detriment. Whatever bark we could find was silky smooth and the branches were too high to grasp. Not wanting to waste time, for it was of the essence, we began to move in an attempt to find good shelter. Sure enough, the barks which had faded away into the distance now came closer and louder again, and we quickened our steps in fear, stopping only to navigate an obstacle or test the trees once more. With our scent trail so hot, there would only be a few more minutes before once more they were nipping at our heels once more. Still the forest refused to cooperate, and as an explosion of noise in the otherwise quiet winter night rang through the hills, I broke into a run. My breath caught the littlest glint of light shining down from the sky, and the ground took on a more surreal texture. Hiccup was right behind me, running as fast as he possibly could to avoid losing the trail that I had taken and the wolves were now tracing. I doubted that I could pull my earlier trick again.

Suddenly the dark presence of the woods cleared, and I could see the clouds racing across the sky, their features ambiguous and yet defined. I could feel grass replacing the woody leaves and moss of the forest floor that had become so familiar to me. We had broken into a small glade, roughly circular, though my night vision was unreliable at best that I was sure of. Up ahead was a looming shape that looked almost like a turtle's shell, sticking up out of the ground like a pile of rocks. Which it was, as I discovered to my detriment when I slipped and scraped myself on them. Hiccup missed my fall, but when he could not hear me running, he began to call out.

"Astrid! Where are you?"

I grunted and lifted my arm, which seemed to be in some hole in the pile.

"Over here! In the stones."

"Keep talking. Hurt?"

He was now on the other side of the rocks, from what I could tell, and coming closer. I tested my limbs. Other than that deep scratch which I had received earlier I was mostly fine, just banged up and hung out to dry, that was all.

"No. I think I've found a cave."

"Good. I'll be there in a sec." I could hear a faint scratching over the ever growing sounds of the wolf pack, which was now only a minute away, maybe two. There was a thud as a body landed right next to me, and he caught my arm. I felt rather than saw him trace the lines of the opening, and he gave a low whistle as he reached forwards and met nothing but air. It was an entrance well hidden, and had I not fallen at just the right time we never would have seen the small black shadow there in a world of black shadows.

"Do you think there's anything in here?" he asked.

"If there is, it's got to be better than being eaten alive by wolves. I'll take my chances." How wrong that was.

I scooted in and found to my delight that I was able to stand all the way up. Hiccup tripped over a large rock coming in, but it was just the right kind of rock, as it looked to be about the size that would fit in the entrance, if you paired it with a few others. The only problem was that the entrance was three feet wide and almost double that in width. Still, it was our best hope, and we began searching for the crack between it and the floor so that we could lift up the slab, which reminded me of a giant doormat. It wasn't all that wide, so soon we had lifted it halfway up to the way in. I pushed hard with my back to the stone, but it took much strength to move it, strength that I didn't have after such a long chase. As it was, it took both of us to close the 'door', and there was still a small passage that a wolf could possibly slip through.

Speak of the devil, the cavalry had arrived. The leaders of the pack charged in to the clearing, and began sniffing the ground around our shelter, doubtless following Hiccup's scent trail, which would buy us some time. Without hesitation, the boy in question started to gather some of the average looking rocks that were laying about in the corners, and thrust them endwise into the hole so that they would stick. I joined in, and soon we had to kick with our boots to make the new stones fit in. Finally, with a mighty thrust, I pushed the last slab into the barrier, just as a giant paw scratched at it. Hopefully they would hold. But one could not take any chances. I stepped back with my bow drawn and my four sweaty arrows on my belt, guarding against the chance of a break in.

My foot hit something, but it wasn't a rock. It seemed almost organic to the touch, and yet hard. It was late at night, and so the part of my mind that would normally be screaming danger at me was cloudy and not functioning. I half-turned, all while keeping an eye on the door.

"Hiccup, what's this?" I spurned the object with my toe.

"What's what?"

"This."

"I can't see it. Where?"

"Here."

And I kicked it with my boot, hard, in an effort to show him the spot. Suddenly there was a low rumbling noise and my boot rose up as the ground moved. I was thrown down by the mass as it rose, and the warm wind of heavy breathing flowed across my hair, ruffling it. A small curtain of flames spat out and onto the ground, where they stuck and lit up the room with a phosphorus glow. A blue dragon, it's great bulk taking up half of the room was revealed before my eyes.

"And to think we've just sealed our own coffins." groaned Hiccup.

* * *

 **So, a little chronological grounder for you. The first half of this chapter occurs on Day Five after shipwreck, at least according to their calculations. Astrid was actually out through the night when they wrecked and Hiccup forgot to mark** **that** **down on the stick,** **because they didn't have one** **, so it's technically Day Six. Ocean has the correct time because she, well, she's a dragon and is more intimate with nature. shrugs . That's the time** **line for you just in case you wanted to know.**

 **At this point Stoick hasn't seen hide nor hair of the two of them for almost a month, since he departed to go on another of his nest hunts some time before they left, and he must be getting a little stir crazy. We'll see about that later. And he's definitely not going to be in the mood to be listening to _We Can Dance If We Want To_ by Men Without Hard Hats, even though I might be. Somebody please listen to this music, or.. never mind.**

 **Also, did you catch the star wars reference on the sentence that starts with word 9309? It's in every one of the films and most of the extended universe.**

 **On a foot note, rabbit meat is also sometimes called Hasen in Germany, and I may or may not use this term sparingly in the future when the text gets a little tedious and perhaps unwieldy. 4AR**


	14. Until Dawn Breaks

**A/N**

 **So, what's been going on, and why is this chapter so short. Well, life got in the way. I really don't have any other way to explain it other than that, so, apologies I guess? Just so you know, this will probably be in the omniscient point of view, past-present tense. Just trying to get everything in there. Also, did you like the grim humor at the end of last chapter?**

 **Written to the tune of** _ **I can see clearly now**_ **, by Johnny Nash, and** _ **The four seasons,**_ **by Vivaldi. Or perhaps** _ **Here Comes The Sun**_ **by The Beatles. Does** _ **anyone**_ **actually listen to my recommendations? Because it certainly doesn't seem that way. Everyone should know about Here Comes The Sun, because that melody. Just wow. I love The Beatles just as much as I do Star Wars.**

 **Guest. From the huge draw weight we see when Astrid kills the deer, I doubt that Hiccup would be able to handle such a weapon, it was made specifically for Astrid and for her power grade. And now that he has caused the loss of her axe, he feels indebted to her and wants to make up for it. There, my reasons explained. Happy? Also, on your point about spears, that was a major smacked my head moment right there.**

 **If a chicken says, "All chickens are liars". Is the chicken telling the truth?**

 **Beta'd by Harrypanther.**

The dragon snorted, blowing warm air gently over Astrid's hair, slicking it back, the flaxen surface wetted by all of the sweat that permeates it. Thrown into contrast by a wavering light, the beast's snout seemed particularly deadly, protruding from the shadows as it did, like a steel pike, glinting wickedly, shining even in the limited light, drawing unwelcome connections. Still, the impression is broken, as the dragon shakes it's head wildly, undoubtedly disoriented by the sudden awakening.

For a moment, no one moved a muscle. Even the hardest of hearing could have heard a pin drop, or so much as the buzzing of a fly. As it is, the breathing of the three cave occupants is deafening, each one of the three cave occupants hearing their own heart beat like a hammer and tongs pounding over the barking of hungry wolves that are spoiling for their opportunity. Now the nadder blinks sleepily, still not fully comprehending the cave's new, and unwelcome, visitors, yawning lightly and showing the bright pink tongue, reddened by the orange light of the fire that is now illuminating it's bright blue scales. Still the humans do not move, their faces betraying their shock and astonishment like an open book, though Astrid distantly reaches for an arrow and starts to string it with numb fingers that she can only dimly feel, even as the blood pumps through them with violence. In her mind, they are doomed to fight, and she might as well strike the first blow, if only to have a chance at winning this battle, their only exit guarded by another danger than that they are now encountering.

If the dragon recognizes any threat from the weapon, it does not act, instead choosing to sit tight and wait any action on Astrid's part.

Outside, a branch falls and breaks, a resounding crack from it's impact flowing through the cave like the horn starting a race. Like the horn that heralds the beginning of a race, the fight was on. The twang of the bowstring was masked by the scream of an arrow, as Astrid released all of that unborn energy which she had compiled. The tip hits right on the dragon's nose, shattering and sloughing off like water, making Ocean whip her head back from the sudden impact, one that she did not see coming to her. A brush of her large wings blows air onto the failing fire, and it scatters across the floor, dimming from the dispersion, but somehow becoming more brilliant. Astrid sees her chance.

"Now! While it's confused!"

She reaches for her dagger, but remembers that it is in Hiccup's possession. It's been clutched there for the entire time, slippery with the perspiration expired during the chase, yet still perfectly deadly in the right hands. The dragon is properly grumpy now, looking ready to spit fire at them for their intrusion, but still Hiccup grasps vainly at the dagger, wasting precious seconds that could have been of much use, seemingly not wanting to press the attack against his enemy.

Then several things happen all at once. Ocean roars, her warm breath which was once a gentle breeze nearly moving the humans back a pace and filling Astrid's hair with saliva, dragon breath filling their nostrils with the foul smell of night dragon breath, a terrible combination under any circumstances. Hiccup's hands, which were already well greased, seem to drip with perspiration, reflecting an oily light off each of his fingernails. Under all the pressure, it's understandable what he does next. He drops his weapon. The clatter fully rouses the dragon, erasing all of the faintest haze of it's confusion, leaving only a growing anger, and perhaps a little befuddlement on the side to boot.

Astrid makes a blind dive for her knife just as Ocean launches a liberal spread of spines which whistle over her back, missing her by inches and crack against the hard wall. In the excitement it's hard to grip the weapon, and she casts off her bow to make it easier, grasping for any trace of a handle, just as her foe begins to form a plan. The element of surprise is now almost totally gone for both parties, while Hiccup is mostly strung against the sidelines, and her foe is busy making a plan.

Finally her hand meets the knife, and she rolls onto her feet, making a feint lunge, then dancing away over the stones, only stumbling slightly. Still, her energy was drained from the prolonged period of running that she had had to endure, and now that fatigue was starting to show from the seams of her defense, a defense that could only hold up for so much longer. It was not so much a matter of parrying as catching her opponent off balance, an active defense that was strangely confusing, and more than once Astrid would miss an opening because of this.

Once more Ocean whips her tail back and forth, and an array of lethal darts zips past Astrid, poorly aimed. But who is to say that they entirely missed, for one, missing the girl, smote the rock wall next to Hiccup, and even as he jumped out of the way, a shard was riven into his shoulder with great force, driving it deeper into his flesh than was healthy for him.

It burned strangely, hurting more than a wound of that size should, even in the unwelcome situation he found himself in. Hiccup grabbed the end of the evil fragment and pulled. The barbs that would usually keep it grounded to him had been sawed off on impact, making it come out more easily, and not a moment too soon, for he clutched the side of his arm in pain, sinking to the ground while making faces while a crystal fire flowed through his veins like water. Hoping that the poison wouldn't spread any further, he sat on his knees, down but not out. Who knew that those things were so dangerous? With his heart beating at the rate that it was, it was a wonder he didn't already have a nosebleed or some other symptom, instead it seemed that his head had been cloven in two by an axe, and looking at the light was painful in turn. With his eyes shielded, Hiccup curled into a small ball on the floor and hoped for the best. Suddenly Hiccup wished he had read more of the dragon manual.

As it was, blood was already welling up from his collarbone like a weeping mosquito bite, slowly soaking his tunic with that telltale iron must that seems to preclude all loss. Two more hits like that and he would be done for, Hiccup thought, and he was probably right, forced to stay out of a fight for his life, he could only watch and listen to the sounds of battle, to Astrid's frustration, to say the least.

Speaking of Astrid, how was she getting along? The flames that had glowed so sinisterly earlier were now extinguished, and for only a few seconds, both she and her opponent were blind, giving her a fleeting advantage that just asked to be taken and used.

Ducking down for a moment to avoid any last second shots in the failed light, she jumped towards the last known position of her opponent, bringing out the dagger in one fluid motion timed perfectly with her leap in a rare display of competence such that had never been seen before on the island. But even then fatigue still showed, manifesting in the fringe of her battle cry. Ever as she estimated where the dragon was and brought her knife out for an uppercut to strike at the vulnerable underbelly of it's bulk, so did Ocean fire another, wider, set of needles towards the sound of her rapidly encroaching footwork.

hey missed, and by a wide margin as well, but another broke like a piece of glass upon the place where Hiccup would have been, should he have remained standing. Several more shards fell down around him, yet none broke the skin and delivered their venomous payload. It made the hair on the back of his neck tingle nonetheless, and I can't blame him for that either in that light (which really meant none at all) for his obvious fear.

A moment later, Astrid dived under Ocean's head, aimed for the middle mass, and struck what she thought would be a brutal blow. The point of the blade dug itself into the dragon's scales, and would have made a flesh wound, if only the wound on her back had not entered the fray. There was just not enough force backing it for the knife to penetrate, and the edge bounced off with fiery sparks that fell to the ground haphazardly and faded away as quickly as they had come. Dancing out of the way, and incorporating a few dodges to avoid the inevitable onslaught of darts coming for her too close for comfort was slowly extorting her strength, and grimly Astrid saw that with every strike, her dagger grew duller, and her bones more worn so that her knees buckled with every other step.. The longer the fight continued, the worse her chances of winning, despite the fact that most girls her age would have already given up and prayed to Thor for a miracle, so impossible seemed the challenge that now faced her.

Still confused a little, Ocean misses her chance to snap at Astrid's heels as she scoots away at top speed and out of her reach. The smell of blood tickles her nose, only it's not Astrid's. But finally her opponent's tiredness is starting to slip through the cracks even as Ocean becomes more alert and in tune with the situation. Astrid nearly trips over a pebble somewhere bordering the wall, and sends it skittering across the floor. If it's a trick to distract the wary dragon, it doesn't work, as she watches the place where the flying rock had come from, clearing her head, and beginning to finally use her body's natural advantages.

The noise of raspy breathing is all the dragon can hear, and she knows that most of it is her own exhalations. The girl has quieted herself, and the only other person in the room is Hiccup, who is laboring long and hard to draw in good air, the poison having done a bad number on him. With her night vision shattered, Ocean decides to light things up once again. Knowing that there was only a limited supply of air, she was sparing with her fire, and only a small stream of it spatters acrosst the stones. Almost like a flow of burning water it crests, and it curdles like milk as it flows around, revealing everything in brilliant orange detail.

In one of the corners is what looks like another human, she can't exactly tell. He's curled up and his jacket is soaked with the blood that was tickling her nostrils. His face is shielded from the light by one hand, while the other is clutched on his shoulder in a vain attempt to keep the blood from spilling out hand over fist. Out of her peripheral vision something moves, and Ocean turns to meet it, striking out with a broad wing in the general direction of Astrid, who ducks under the twisting limb and keeps coming. It's a big risk, closing the range so recklessly, and only blind luck keeps her from being pinned down by the dragons' sweeping body as Ocean aligns herself with the whirlwind attack.

There was another quick slash, a glint of light, and sparks fell onto the dusty floor, swallowed up by the grey matter as blue scales joust with flashing steel, making the dagger rebound into Astrid's hands and jamming her wrists as she danced away, on her toes, ready to exploit any vulnerability in Ocean's defense.

Irritated by the sting of knife against scale, Ocean lashed out with a well placed kick. Astrid sidelined, spinning on the balls of her feet so that it would pass to her right, but the effort still knocked her off balance and she stumbled awkwardly as the dragon pulled it's feet back in an effort to balance itself in turn, lining up for a shot at the same time that Astrid found her feet. Not completely, as the flying quills nearly found their mark in her neck as she rolled away, wishing for a shield all the while. Perhaps the outcome could have been different if Ocean had thrown a few more spines a little to the left, but even a dragon's spines are not unlimited and she may not have wanted to spend them all at once. Even in her youth, Ocean was ever the moderate.

It was at this point that Hiccup muttered some kind of sarcastic remark, though what it was cannot be said, as nobody really paid attention to it.

Astrid scrambled to her feet, the look on her face showing how much she realized that that last scrape had been just too close. Another speeding needle slipped through her hair, going so fast that it barely ruffled the surface, almost as if to prove her point. It thudded against the rocks behind her with enough force to send rolling dust down her coat. But how not to get hit? Astrid ransacked her mind while she dodged in the fading light, the second cycle of illumination in the dark night. Then, she saw her chance.

Ocean overextended, her quoit throwing tail made busy by the effort of keeping her stable. It was like a new understanding of the fight for Astrid, and as her third and final wind kicked in, she raced towards the gap, ignoring the sharp teeth that could have ripped her to pieces on the way in, right under the dragons' head as it vainly tried to bat at her with it's uninjured wing from the left. Astrid easily stepped right, but that brought her almost out of Ocean's blind spot, and she nearly got blasted, a small leakage of whitish-orange fire fluid drizzling out the side of the dragons' cavernous mouth, sucking some of the good oxygen from the air and causing Astrid to cough.

Now that she thought about it, how long had it been since she'd had a good breath? Dancing beneath an angry dragon's head, however, didn't leave much time for such questions, as she made a drive into the joint of the dragons' neck, only for it to be foiled. Hiccup, too, felt the strange constriction of his lungs even as half his body throbbed excruciatingly with the pain that he had no choice in bearing.

Ocean was thinking the same thing, only it was more urgent for her. Other than the natural shot limit, the amount of air in the cave could be a deciding factor. After all, who wanted to choke themselves on their own fire? Alas, that could already be happening, as her inhalations were beginning to feel stuffier and less refreshing with every passing minute. Her nostrils flared in a sudden intake because of a sudden prick of pain on her neck, and she dipped her head to compensate, a knife nearly having been thrust into an artery by the ever persistent enemy. In another minute or so the light of the fire would die out again, and she would have to light it again once more.

But why? In a flash, the earlier elements of her plan came to fruition, and she began to play for the long game. The loss of oxygen was still frustrating, but not as much of a handicap as she'd originally thought. Down below, Astrid began to waver, her nimbleness swallowed by the fatigue of the night's exertions. Without a plan and a way to end this fight quickly, she'd lose to the greater power of the dragon, even without the great schism that was opening between her mind and body. Everything seemed so much more sluggish than before, every movement lagged behind what she had expected to happen, and every stroke was lighter than the next. But the dragons' onslaught seemed to have no end, and already it was a challenge to stay in the blind zone while avoiding blind blows that would easily crush her. Some of the caustic smoke was causing her left eye to tear up uncomfortably, just adding another grievance to a long list of woes.

The ambient glow of the fire died once more, the flames disintegrating to a white powder that quickly mixed with the gray dust on the floor, mixed in by scuffling feet. Again Ocean spat out some of the glowing goo, but much less of it this time than the last, and instead of coating the walls in a brilliant orange like it had before, the light had turned completely dull and lifeless, reducing Astrid's vision to nothing but shadows while Ocean's night sight still saw everything in exquisite detail. And that was exactly what Ocean needed.

Jumping back, the dragon pressed up against the cave wall, putting her enemy to her fore while covering her sides with a thousand pounds of solid rock, each. Although the casual observer would have thought that Astrid had driven her back, the reluctance with which she pressed the attack suggested otherwise. Indeed, the girl was just about to drop, only kept from unconsciousness by the insane amounts of adrenaline rushing through her veins. Fighting for one's very life until day becomes night and night becomes day again certainly has that effect on people.

With all of her strength nearly gone, the situation was certainly looking dismal. Now Astrid was looking at the now very large chance that she might lose. With every failed strike and and every, ever slowing dodge from a strike that would have sheared her to the core, that was looking almost certain now. If she wanted to survive this night, she'd have to pull off a miracle. And that was exactly what she intended to do.

"Traditional viking stubbornness." mumbled Hiccup in the background. It seemed that he would be sarcastic till the bitter end.

Tucking herself down, she rolled towards Ocean from the very fore. The move was unexpected… and that was what she was counting on. A flurry of quills zipped over her head, but at this point she was so used to trading insults with death that she didn't even notice, other than to note that it made a nice breeze in an otherwise breathless place. True was her aim, and when she felt dragon scales under her tender shoulder, she leaped up and started to climb.

For a moment Ocean was surprised enough that part of her brain could not be bothered to make her move any more, and she held her breath as Astrid scrambled up her leg, using her wings as grips to get where she wanted. A few scales scraped her already raw hands and punctured her legs, but feeling no burning effect (she'd been hit by nadder darts before), she kept going. By the time Ocean had the presence of mind to try and shake off her opponent, it was too late. Astrid was on her neck, and intended to stay there. It was a rodeo up there, but Astrid clung onto the gravelly head with all she had, and managed to stay on without getting crushed.

Now she raised her dagger high above her body, ready to bring it crashing down into the back of Ocean's skull, her royal blood showing as even as she was covered in sweat, dirt and grease, she seemed more regal and yet more terrible than ever.

The skin on the back of a Nadder's head wouldn't be thick enough to deflect the blade or even stop it. In a last minute attempt to stop the small human, Ocean tried to use her tail to wipe off Astrid, like a fly caught in the windshield wiper. But alas, backing up against the wall had it's consequences, and she just couldn't get her spines around fast enough to even hit the tiny thing hanging onto her back.

But the hands which had once felt so lithe now felt as heavy as stones, and Astrid knew that even as tired as she was, something was wrong. Her muscles refused to function, and just as the dagger was about to plunge into Ocean's neck, so did it fall from her fingers, almost in slow motion, like she was watching it from far away.

The thing which had enabled their livelihood, had kept them warm, helped make shelter, and had helped defend her in time of need, fell to the floor with a clang and it's jingling crash echoed throughout the cave. The soporific had done it's work, flowing in through the side spines and flowing off of the scales on the dragons' legs and into an unsuspecting Astrid, leaving Ocean to live another day.

Astrid had only a second to comprehend all this, until she started getting pounded against the granite roof. Again and again she was pushed back and compressed until all the air was thrown violently from her lungs, and there would be only a moments respite until that would happen once more. Like the beating of a hammer on a rivet, Astrid was put in her place until she was mercifully knocked unconscious and fell to the floor with a heavy thud and a clinking of her heavy chain mail skirt. And with that, the fight was over.

Ocean stamped on the dagger until it was a twisted hunk of metal underneath her heavy foot. A master smith would struggle to form an edge on the wreck the piece had become, much less a weapon, folded in upon itself and coated in thick layers of dust as it was. Turning her head, Ocean saw a couple of the things that had smashed into her at the beginning of the fight. Bows and arrows aren't usually used against dragons because they just don't have enough weight to them, so she didn't know about _Silencer._ The arrowheads seemed dangerous though, so she crushed them with her heel until they were turned to gravelly, albeit sharp, reflective dust, though at this point there wasn't much light to scatter around anymore.

The wolves which had initially interrupted her sleep were still milling around outside, for she could smell them while they were still outside through all of the cracks in her cave. They seemed to be somewhat disinterested, and one by one she felt their presences diminish until once more they were only a shadow within the woods, a shadow that was quickly joining the many other shadows. They howled, a many chorded melody that reverberated around the entire island, then trotted off in search of other, easier prey.

Now what of the humans?

The brown haired one was still conscious, but looked a little hazy, his hand (it looked like a boy…) clutching his shoulder and coated in blood from the anti-clotting poison administered by the rogue spine. His tense form had relaxed, letting him sprawl out over the ground haphazardly, like a fish out of water. A few scratches, some extraneous and some deep, lined his legs, probably from the wolves. The blood had pooled a little on top of his jacket, which had been partially soaked in a couple of places, but it had mostly clotted, the poison cycling out of his system fairly rapidly. To Ocean he looked almost like a giant fishbone, skinny and yet deceiving. He seemed to have something special about him, but she couldn't tell what.

The other, flaxen haired one which had put up the worst fight had none of the same tact. Indeed, it, he, she, whatever, Ocean couldn't tell exactly, looked much like a regular viking, except smaller and perhaps thinner, though no less deadly. In fact, both of them looked quite young. Against her better notions, Ocean felt some sympathy for them. They had probably been running from wolves, she could smell their scent on them (as well as copious amounts of sweat), and had ducked down in here, thinking that perhaps it would be safe, for indeed they had blocked the entrance, not expecting there to be anyone down there. To their surprise, they'd only found a grumpy dragon who had not hesitated to beat them up.

Ocean wasn't really sure about these two, but nonetheless she nosed them both into a sitting position next to each other. Would she take them outside and set them down, or should she kill them before they could gain vengeance? A more mature dragon, experienced with vikings, would have executed them on the spot, but Ocean was young, green, and perhaps most of all, curious. Besides, if she took them outside they'd probably freeze to death in the cold winter. That would be heartless.

Well, for safety precautions, she'd better take away anything that could be a possible weapon. Presently, all the rocks, stones, and that peculiar curved tree limb were dragged out of sight and put away. Even though the boy had a strange kind of… smile perhaps, on his face, she couldn't be sure, even now. Clearing the entrance, she set the youngsters on the proverbial porch, not being able to resist the urge to lick their wounds a little also.

Whether or not it was simple mothering instinct that powered her actions she couldn't be sure about, but now all she needed was a good rest. Mornings were always a good time to make decisions after all. Ocean yawned and lay down, looking over at the little humans every so often. Then, still innocent and trusting, she allowed herself to fall asleep, even despite her natural fears nagging at her like flies. Just… until.. morning.

It had been a long night.

 **AN**

 **So, did you like it. I hope you did, because that was a real thriller to write. And yes, I should have included the spear as part of their armory, but Smack My Head happened, so, meh.**


	15. Headaches and Hiccups

**A/N**

 **First off, I'd like to thank you for all your support, especially for people like Dragon Rider's Fury, and many others. Without you guys I could have never found the will to write most of this story. You were the people who propelled me through the [redacted] known as Chapter 13, and I cannot express my gratitude in any better words than this. Anyway, on with the necessary exercises, and then we can get to the story.**

 **Made while listening to _Legend. Ft Backchat_ from Beat Saber, my new favorite game. It's one of the reasons I haven't updated frequently enough. Sorry. And don't forget _Starless Night_ by AntVenom, also based on one of my favorite games. Credits to Ten Years After for their great song too, _I'd_ _L_ _ove to_ _C_ _hange_ _T_ _he_ _W_ _orld._**

 **Does _anyone_ actually listen to my recommendations? Nobody? Dang it. Forget that I said anything.**

 **Riddle.**

" **You use this every day. Many times I would bet. The more that you get dry. The more that it gets wet.** **"**

 **-?**

 **I think that's pretty easy, all things said and done. Don't forget to tell me your favorite kind of cookie!**

 **Hopefully beta'd by Harrypanther. Don't speed read this chapter, instead, take a little time to enjoy it. That always differentiates a good story from the bad, and I hope I don't end up on the naughty list.**

"Unn. Where am I?"

Hiccup woke up first, only to find a stone wall staring him down in the face. Everything was hazy and white, and his brain felt like it was lost in a fog. An acid fog too, for a throbbing headache threatened to split his head open, and every part of his body was sore beyond belief. One of his shoulders felt worse than the other, and a vaguely familiar goo covered it and parts of his nose, inside and out. His chest felt… off somehow, and if he had not broken at least a rib, he must have sprained one. A parched tongue only added to the long, painful list.

For a moment his thoughts reflexively shot back to his Berk days, and he felt he was back in Gothi's hut, nursing his wounds after yet another invention had backfired, which happened all too often around here. He closed his eyes to block out the painful glow of the rock above him, a dull glimmer that seemed to burn him inside. Involuntarily he used an aching hand to cover his face as new pain manifested itself in his sinuses.

He was all too familiar with the healer's hut, although the granite siding was new. Or was it a roof? He couldn't tell, but it seemed that the elder had decided to lay him on the floor as punishment for one too many visits. Still, there was something missing, like an black, deep pit in his mind, begging to be filled with the proper memories.

And why was it so cold? Usually he would have been able to hear the fire crackling, but now there was an uncomfortable silence where the hustle and bustle of the healer could sometimes be heard over the gentle hum of the village's ongoing activity. Now he could hear nothing, only his own, painful, breathing. Well, not exactly nothing. A cool breeze rustled the small things around him and whispered gently through his ears, calming him somewhat.

The light spilling in was golden, and while not particularly heating, it did serve to warm him somewhat. From its color Hiccup judged that it was afternoon or evening, though he could have been wrong. The stars of summer wavered, passed, and then came to him again. A squirrel chattered away in the forest, squawking over his stolen acorns.

As the mist between his ears dissipated, he began to recollect himself, slowly but surely. Then, like a small trickle, some of his memories began to pour in, haphazard, disconnected and not necessarily in chronological order, but enough, and the dark patch of his brain began to fill with his past words and even some actions, but those were still hazy.

An island… Berk was an island. A different island then. A camp now. Food. A fire. Some hills. Himself on top of the hills, looking out at the land, features that Future Hiccup didn't recognize from anywhere. Snowy shores, with the waves lapping up contentedly on the beachhead.

As much as he pressed himself, there was not much more, and in all of it, there was not a single soul on the scene anywhere. That could wait for the time being then. For now he had much more pressing issues. One, rather important example being; where was he?

"Convenient." he muttered to nobody in particular. "At least my past self could've left some directions."

His neck hurt as much as the rest of his body, and raising it would be difficult, for his muscles seemed more weary then they often were, even for a puny boy with no stamina like himself. Big surprise. Not.

Hiccup smiled briefly. At least he remembered that about himself.

But soon came another big surprise. There was blood on his shirt, blood wiped everywhere, and some still sticky and liquid to the touch, though the wound had closed before he had awoken. Dark red stains traced down the inside of his clothes, down his legs even, though a small pool of it had formed on the floor, congealing in the tiny cracks and seeping into the more porous stones. He shivered. That thought would give him nightmares, if he let it run amok, and so he quickly thrust it out of his mind.

Have you ever felt when you're sleeping in that you need just five more minutes? That's what Hiccup felt like, as every bone in his body willed him to stay put, and he obliged, reasoning to himself that he needed time to find his bearings.

At last he forced himself to look over, rubbing his eyes with his one good hand, though it only seemed to drive in more dirt. Suddenly he did a double take. It couldn't be. And yet, laying next to him was… Astrid. How did she get there in all this mess? And where was everyone else? Surely there would be someone around, unless he was gravely mistaken somehow.

Almost at once his head cleared completely, and he forgot everything, but remembered it in turn, while his heart rate skyrocketed to rather unhealthy levels.

On the floor lay a small, girlish body, her chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly, a few bruises on her face, bad ones, though not so serious as to be fatal, or indeed anywhere close, though her shoulder pads were hewn and riven as by an axe. A partially unbraided strand of flaxen hair drooped over one of her eyelids, tracing along her face as lithely as a swallow, billowing in the slight, yet unseen, wind.

Her head was partially propped up against the wall, but it had slid down during the night and undone the best part of her nearly invisible, brown hair tie, which she had somehow managed to keep on during the entire ordeal that the island had thrown at them. Astrid's eyes were closed, though due to the slant of her head they angled up a little, staring at nothing in particular but still giving him the creeps.

Her knife was nowhere to be seen, nor her bow, though Hiccup had only hazy memories of making it. What a sight he'd been, trying to cut the perfect wood for the arrow shafts from a tree, all in the dark to make sure that she didn't see him. He chuckled half-heartedly.

Two chickadees sung their tittering notes from a hiding place in the brush, perfectly at home with the chill weather.

Grit mixed with white powder on the floor, though it was not chalk, it clung to his arms and legs with a vengeance, and itched him in all the wrong places. The tiny, razor-like stones were spread about as far as he dared to look, sticking on the small, flat objects that seemed to decorate everything around here, obscuring their true colors and confirming that he was not in Gothi's hut after all. This place could use a good sweeping, he thought drowsily.

To his right lay a fresh coat of snow that covered everything in a white dust, with grass blades poking through it in a small clearing, almost light enough to be called a glade, though the sun shone only weakly upon the cave. Needle-like icicles streamed down from the entrance, their undulations vaguely fascinating. A few small crystals hung from the trees, which also had icicles hanging down from them.

Hiccup had the sudden urge to taste one and see what it was like, ignorant of the fact that his tongue would probably freeze. A dry mouth will do that to you.

Hiccup braced himself with his elbow, then tried to rise, not without a groan. It hurt like crazy, but soon he was sitting up well enough, back to the stones for extra support, though he still found himself staring at the better side of a rock wall. His shoulder still ached, and when he rolled it experimentally, it stung him with a sharp pain in one of the muscles, and he didn't dare to move it again, except in the smallest increments, which were maddeningly slow.

While he had been busy settling himself, some of the more… coherent memories had started to flow in, and dimly he noted that the wicked barb that had embedded itself close to his collarbone had worked it's way out and was lying on the floor innocently, looking for all the world like a children's plaything that had been dropped by it's owner if it hadn't been for the serrated edges and tiny hooks that covered the skeleton of the deadly quill.

Of course, Nadder spines don't just throw themselves, and Hiccup started to get a twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that told him they weren't alone. He felt rather than saw eyes boring into him from the side, measuring him, perhaps finding him wanting (all too likely), and he did not dare look toward them, fearing what thing might be the owner of such piercing instruments. A cold hand seemed to creep down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine and making his hair stand straight up, while goose bumps appeared from nowhere and covered his arms.

But curiosity is one of the most powerful human impulses, and slowly, cautiously, Hiccup turned his head, body tensing involuntarily while beads of sweat broke out under his tunic, despite the chill. First a tail, then a leg, then the back of a wing swept into his vision, where he stopped, his courage wavering while the last of the fight replayed itself in his head, though he didn't remember all of it, having already been knocked silly by an accidental blow, also to the shoulder. He grimaced, his tiny hint of a beard twisting while his cheeks contracted.

A small battle played itself out in his mind. Hopefully the dragon was dead, else Astrid would not have dared to fall asleep without her dagger nearby. She certainly wasn't dead, for her gentle breathing rustled every so often, though she hadn't woken up quite yet. He dared to take another look, reasoning that there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Still, a strange sense of foreboding filled him.

And still, his anxiety only grew. His eyes traced along the dragon's huge figure until he reached it's face. But instead of looking dead, it's face was quite alive, and with a shock Hiccup saw that it was watching him, even as a shadow rolled over his back, the sun blocked out and a sudden cool beyond what had become normal set in. His heart jumped into his mouth and got a death grip on his jaw, while he involuntarily swallowed dryly.

They just stared at each other, and neither moved, Astrid notwithstanding, who shifted in her sleep and let her head fall down a little, a stray bang spilling even more onto her nose. He let out a long breath that he didn't even know he'd been holding, and some of the pressure melted away, but still the dragon continued watching him with that reptilian stare that made him want to cower, to find a place to hide.

Not knowing what to do, Hiccup awkwardly waved. That didn't turn out so well, for the Nadder's tail shot up, spines extended. He flinched and shut his eyes, butting up against the wall hard, waiting for the inevitable pain that would surely come. A moment passed. Nothing happened, other than his nervous fidgeting.

One quick prayer to Thor later, Hiccup unsquinted his eyes to see the dragon looking at him with an amused expression, clearly having had a nice laugh at his expense, if that was even possible for such a creature. It seemed to smile, a twinkle of mirth somehow, though he just couldn't pin it down, and that was frustrating enough without having it giving him the creeps.

Somewhere next to him Astrid stirred a little more, waking up perhaps, and the dragon shifted it's attention off Hiccup and onto her, which he wasn't sure that he liked, though it didn't look malicious, even… curious if he hadn't known better. Still the dragon did not move, simply watching them with a gentler gaze than before, less to size them up and more to observe without disturbance.

At least that was his conclusion; Astrid wouldn't be so civil when she awoke, of that he was certain. A restraining hand unconsciously found it's way to her shoulder, though he wasn't sure it would make all that much of a difference. She could be very… temperamental at times, and he knew that all too well. An old bruise came to mind, still tender to the touch, and throbbing now that he thought about it again.

A tiny flake of snow floated past his nose and gently onto the floor, where it promptly melted as he watched. But it was followed by another, and another, so that soon infinitesimal flecks of frozen dust covered the back of his worn and bloodied tunic, which did nothing to stop the cold whatsoever. A few small bits of snow found their way into his hair, and when he ran his hand through the auburn locks some parts felt moist to the touch, but not at all cold or unpleasant, only smooth, and, comfortable.

The dragon did not move after that, only watched from a distance, and Hiccup began to wind down a little, reasoning that things were not all bad. He'd have a handful when Astrid got wind of this, of that he was sure, but she didn't look like she was going anywhere, at least not for the time being. More snowflakes found their way in, but it was not a downpour yet, for he could still see the trees when he looked out. It had been a mild year, and they were lucky to have gotten this far.

You're still alive and kicking, Hiccup reminded himself wryly. It's not over yet. There's still hope, as long as that dragon doesn't kill us, we'll be fine. Of course, his inner pep talk failed miserably. Still, since when had he been on such good terms with Astrid? Not since his wee childhood days, a time so long ago that it seemed like a good dream for him, a reminder of the good old days that the old people always talked about, whether he was interested in listening to them or not.

Of course, there wouldn't be any of that if he froze to death. The chill had seeped in while he was thinking, and while he had a few furs on him, they weren't doing much good, standing by as the biting air had infiltrated his skin.

Moving keeps you warm, he'd once heard someone say, but he had never needed to test that theory before. Well, maybe once or twice, but that was really embarrassing and he'd never heard the end of it for his ridiculousness. Best not to mention it now.

He stretched out his arms, or arm, since one of them was too painful to do much of anything with, and started swinging it around, helicopter like. That helped, and the lingering soreness that had been present in his muscles since the night before melted away, though he was still dead tired, but it did him some good nonetheless. His knees were jarred from the running, sending small shocks of pain his way every time he moved them. Hiccup didn't get much farther than wiggling his toes when it came to his lower parts.

A few warm-ups later, during which the dragon would not stop giving him curious looks, he had shaken most of the weariness from his system.

Of course, the same could not be said for Astrid, who was still lying on the floor without having moved the entire time. He experimentally felt her fingers, half-hoping and half-dreading whether she would wake up or not. But she didn't, and soon Hiccup had discovered that she remained quite warm, despite the inclement state of the heavens. Still, sitting inside the doorway wasn't at all pleasant, for him at least. You can never tell what people are thinking when they're unconscious after all, though he doubted she could feel it.

He looked over at the dragon, which was still laying where it had been all morning, though it seemed to be taking a rest. At any rate, it wasn't watching him anymore, or was at least pretending to mind its own business. It was unnerving to say the least, having eyes pry into your back when you're not looking, and even when you are, always weighing you down like a ton of bricks, and he was glad to have that load off him, even for only a moment, and he used that fleeting moment to survey his surroundings.

A white glow filled the cave, replacing the golden light that had earlier streamed in so lavishly. The interior looked dim and drab besides than the dragon, which seemed to shine, though more in some places more than others, almost like a cat's fur when it has been interrupted halfway through a proper cleaning with it's paws. The floor was relatively clean, with a few small stones scattered about where they had fallen, and of course the ever present grit covering every surface, not sparing a single place.

What surprised him more were the pine boughs arrayed in thin stacks, some bore down upon by the dragon, almost like a makeshift bed, almost like his own that he'd had… what, only last morning. Those things all seemed so long ago now, like the memories of Berk before that.

Caution manifesting itself in every motion, Hiccup stood up, first with his left leg, then his right, which had been folded in on itself and had gone to sleep. The invisible needles driving into his skin were not pleasant, not at all, and he nearly fell down after so long a time spent sitting. That would've been the typical Hiccup thing to do.

But somehow he managed to keep his balance, tottering a little but mostly steady on his feet. It felt good to be up and about again, but he felt, or imagined he felt, the gaze of the dragon upon him. He glanced back at it. Drowsy it seemed, but as he peered further, he saw that one of its eyelids was half-open, and looking further still, that the pupil within was watching him discreetly.

Keeping his hands in plain sight, he tried to bring Astrid up in a fireman's carry. You can imagine how that went. He yawned against his will. Some part of him refused to leave Astrid on the doorstep without anything to keep her warm. Heck, this was basic gentlemanly conduct, and he had been steeped in it since an early age.

So finally he settled to dragging her (lightly of course), over to a small nook in the back of the cave, away from the dragon but still close enough to the entrance to afford a quick escape, should they need it. It was much warmer there, and no snow blew onto his hair anymore, which by now was thoroughly soaked. Outside, the snow piled up on the doorstep, almost an inch thick now, and deepening fast, though still remaining fluffy.

Soon the tiny flecks began to become more sticky, settling on top of the snowbanks and compressing the snow beneath to the point where a weak crust was formed, only thick enough to hold a squirrel or bird and nothing more. Biting snowflakes dug into their coats, embedding themselves deeply and matting down Hiccup's hair, even if he had moved away from the entrance, which was now wallowing in huge drifts of the wet, white dust. He pitied the predators trying to find a meal in such bad weather, then frowned when he remembered the wolves and the destruction they had wrought to their precious home.

How right he was. Somewhere out there, a fox floundered after a rabbit running for it's burrow, neither making very much progress, as the snow stuck to their paws and made them slippery. A few times both of them even tripped on a hidden rock beneath the cold, impersonal blanket that covered the land, making everything under it invisible, save the hills, and even they too were obscured by drifts.

Even the yaks on the hidden plains, accustomed to the cold as they were, had problems. By now the snow was so deep that only a dedicated rooting could dig to the bottom of it, where their food lay waiting. It clung to their hooves and to their fur, shaggy coats of it flaking off and being replaced in turn by more snow. Their breath froze on their noses and in them, coating their nostrils with transparent ice, always melting yet always solidifying. Don't you hate it when your boogers freeze?

Snow. It was falling so thickly that he could barely see the trees outside anymore, their limbs sagging from the wet weight that suddenly encumbered them. It drove with increasing fury into everything unfortunate enough to be exposed to the elements, blown by the intensifying west wind that seemed to rip the warmth from everything living, and much else besides.

A roaring sound picked up as the gale blew through the pine trees north of them, throwing their pine cones and their needles around like they were children's playthings to be messed with, though the limbs themselves did not break, they stretched and moaned pitifully, thrashing everywhere. The whole forest seemed to be thrashing itself, the trunks of small trees whipped hither and thither, smashed by the same force sustained by their elder brethren. Indeed, many lay upon the ground, still, their stems snapped at the base while splinters laid everywhere, though all were eventually carried away by the raging tempest.

The many groans of the forest elevated to a cacophony that filled the air, augmenting a rising wail that threatened to blow through the very stones of their cave, piling the windward side of it into drifts ten feet high while the rest of the windswept woods was almost laid bare. But, whether by a stroke of luck or conscious design, the entrance pointed south-west, keeping most of the interior high and dry. Had they remained at their old camp they certainly would have been blown away, such was the fury of the storm, which was now really a true blizzard, powered by the very waters of the ocean itself. There was no telling when it would blow out, or even if it would do so, or whether it would continue all winter until spring came.

All the same, the creatures of the island would just have to go hungry. And speaking of hunger, Hiccup felt his stomach growl as it began to ask for food, in a rather impolite manner I might add, though that really wouldn't be all that necessary. The dragon perked up and began to watch him again, having drifted off during the storm for some reason or another on the pine boughs.

The drifts had accumulated while he'd been thinking, and now the doorway was almost totally blocked with snow roughly the consistency of coffee cake, trapping the warm air within, but also keeping it's occupants holed up inside, unable to hunt or even stretch their muscles when they inevitably got restless.

Did they even have anything left with which to hunt? Hiccup looked around, but the only weapon he could see was Astrid's bow, standing upright against the wall tip-first, but with no arrows. Had Astrid used them all? Ah, there lay the answer, right there on the floor in front of him. The remains of an arrow shaft lay before him, ramrod straight, even down to the scratch marks where he had erred while carving away the small imperfections that marred an otherwise perfect rod. He reached forward and picked it up, snapped it. The tantalizing aroma of cedar reached his nose, wafting on the stale air like a hint of spring. He hoped that it was a good omen.

Now that he looked, he could see other broken shafts littered here and there, some in not so good of a condition as the one he had originally found, but all bearing the subtle marks of his unique craftsmanship. A glint of brownish light found his eye, and lo, Several shards of flint were scattered about on the floor, having been swept to the side by the dragon. In the position they had been put, it was no wonder that he hadn't seen them earlier. Smaller pieces, almost the size of dust were spread evenly in the grit around the larger shards, forming their own twinkling reflections, often different colors from the main body of the arrowhead.

The dagger, Astrid's dagger, remained unnoticed, having been flattened like a sheet of tin foil the moment Ocean had turned her attention to it, though the blade was made of good steel. Not much could stand up to a dragon's strength and live to tell the tale, especially when that dragon happened to be nineteen-hundred pounds and chockful of muscle with extra sharp talons to boot. In any case, the only weapons close at hand remained maddeningly out of reach.

Hiccup suddenly found himself fondling Astrid's hair, the soft locks running through his fingers like water, and he began to hum, an old habit of his, seldom indulged in these strenuous days spent as they were on such an arduous island. For he found himself always toiling before the hunt, and after it, while other projects occupied his spare time, and then he would be off to bed, exhausted by the afternoon's work.

And even before that life had been tough on him, almost as if he had been cursed at birth so bad was his luck. But now, even in such an unlikely situation as this, there was still hope yet, and there would be till the bitter end of it all. So hum he did, and it was calming to him, giving him purchase to think when before there was no time.

Perhaps it was a curious fancy of his, or a figment of his overactive imagination, but even as he watched out of the corner of his eyes the dragon seemed to relax, letting its wings droop while it's warm breaths became more regular, and, comfortable. Just to get a reaction, Hiccup abruptly cut off his music, pinched the bridge of his nose. Immediately the dragon snapped back to attention, neck stiffening as a blue head shot up.

That startled him a little, but now he was more used to all the dragon's antics, so that he did not cower away like before, but instead hummed softly once again, not to a particular rhythm or beat mind you, but a pleasant tune, not louder or more overbearing then the torrent of the storm, but with a loveliness that broke through the cacophony, sometimes falling, sometimes rallying to match a gust of wind or wailing howl. Snow formed ice drifts outside, blocking him inside, breaking tree limbs and throwing them to the ground, but Hiccup did not care.

Then a different sound arose, similar to the storm's and yet special, rising to match his nasally song until they matched almost perfectly, a throaty tone shadowing his and yet complementing it. And it was coming from the dragon. Now Hiccup did not dare stop his music, instead starting to whistle. It was like an understanding had passed between them, and for now the two put their differences aside and made something together. It was a time that he would look back upon with relish, despite the danger.

Of course, Astrid just had to come in and ruin things. She had been awoken by the noise of the storm, was now rubbing her sore eyes blearily until…

"Why is there a dragon _in our house_!"

For a moment the world seemed to fall still, even the blizzard forgot to howl for a second, or so it seemed to them. Then everything exploded.

 **A/N I have a question.**

 **Is there anything that makes me, me? What I mean is, if you were to have a blind reading test between me and some other author, would there be any sort of phrase, tic or something of that kind that would act like some kind of signature? I'd really like to know. P.M me or include that in your review. The wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'! Not my best work but meh, good enough.**


	16. The Power Inside

**A/N**

 **Congratulations to ThatGuyWhoAlwaysSignedHisCommentsWithA. =D, now known as Dragon Rider's Fury. It was a towel. Enjoy your oatmeal raisin cookie! *Afterwards. Blegh. Oatmeal raisin. I hate them because they look exactly like chocolate if you're not looking closely enough. Never a big fan of raisins *shiver.**

 **(::)**

 **Don't forget to tell me your favorite flavor.**

 **So, yeah. This past month has not been good to me. The nine muses suddenly decided to take a vacation, and in their absence I was left feeling pretty drained. Plus, a new season of my favorite show came out on Netflix, which I just had to watch. Heck, I even entertained thoughts of quitting this fic.**

 **But if there's one thing I've learned in life, it's to never give up. Yesterday was when I just said 'screw this, I'm getting down to brass tacks. I'm going back to my keyboard.' Of course, I couldn't have done this without you guys, and I recognize that, but in the end, there are a few of you I owe the most.**

 **Written while listening to _You Can't Take Me_ from Spirit: Stallion of The Cimarron. If anyone likes the music I recommend, please tell me! It would show that I'm recognized in this world *sniff.**

 **Disclaimer. I don't own HTTYD. If I did, Night Furies would have an electronic warfare suite.**

" **Thirty white horses on a red hill. First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still."**

 **-?**

It had been almost a week since Gobber's ship had come back without his son, but time had not healed his wounds. Every morning since then Stoick had trotted down the stairwell to the kitchen, hoping against hope that the past had been but a dream, that his son would be standing there with breakfast in hand and a cheery expression on his face, a witty joke ready to be cracked on a whim. Now, only an empty seat greeted him, while the fireplace, which before had been always lit, now burned to embers without anyone to stoke and feed it.

And as he sat in his chair that evening, looking at his untouched plate, it seemed that there would be no rest for the weary. Perhaps he was truly doomed to be alone in his life.

The rest of the village didn't see his grief, couldn't, because he didn't let them. Still, there was an uneasy feeling that seemed to wrap around everyone, seeping into the alleys and darkening them like a flitting shadow. It manifested itself in his eyes; in the times he would seem far away from whoever was talking to him, how he'd jump when asked a question, like he wasn't really listening to the others had to say.

It was in the actions of the young people of Berk. The twins drifted around aimlessly, lost in their heads, kicking stones with their shoes until they flopped into the sea. There were no more pranks, and they even stopped arguing with each other, as unbelievable as that might have been, while Fishlegs retreated deeper into his calculations and papers without anyone to talk to; he had always been, if not a friend, then a confident to Hiccup. Even Snotlout, who normally flaunted his strength to everyone he met without fail seemed downcast, doing his chores methodically, but his heart wasn't in it.

The weather, which had once been so clear, became overcast and gloomy with the coming of winter, while the temperature, which had held steadily above freezing for the last several weeks, dropped rapidly, forming a dangerous icy coating and turning the various small pools around the island into hardened blocks so cold that you could put your tongue on them and have it get stuck.

The wind blew hard and long with a vengeance, biting the cheeks of those outside and digging into their coats with a vengeance, rattling the rafters of those lucky enough to have them and blasting the snow into every crack and cranny, while those without scarves quickly found their throats turned raw and scratchy.

Snow began to pile up bit by bit over the long North Atlantic nights, blocking in the doors and finding its way through improperly swathed thatching before melting and dripping into the beds and their unfortunate occupants. Snowshoes became a way of life, and many a loving father built his children a sled, with shining runners and flying ribbons, while the women tightened their belts and locked their larders.

Such was village life. This was the way it had been for nearly seven generations, and they had always come out fine. That didn't mean Stoick actually had to like it, he thought bitterly, as he chucked some more wood on the fire, which always seemed to only warm up only the three inches of the room closest to it and nothing else, though it crackled and popped like a madman having a coughing fit in his death throes. The flames danced and flared without a care in the world. If only real life could be so simple.  
Heavy snow thumped outside as someone approached his door. There was a slight drag in the visitors step. There was only one person he knew who walked like that.

Before the man could knock (knowing him, he probably wouldn't bother anyway), Stoick greeted him. The door opened, with it came the snow, whisking and whirling around his living room, driven by the wind. In stepped Gobber wearing a heavy overcoat, who promptly hung up his hat as the door slammed with a bang behind him, shutting out the howl of the storm.

There was a moment of relative silence as the blacksmith started to kick off his boots, first his left, and then his right. They both ended upside down on the floor backwards and totally switched around, as shoes often do, though they were waterlogged and weighed down by the wet snow. Gobber peeled off his jacket and the coat on it and flopped the pieces of clothing over a chair, where they wasted no time in falling onto the floor.

Then he unabashedly helped himself to Stoick's uneaten food and started to eat heartily, during which time neither of them said a word. Finally he pushed back the plate and patted his stomach, letting the food sink in. Only then did they begin to talk.

"Have you come back to badger me about domestic affairs again? Or has the shop burned down from your antics?" Stoick said, then sighed.

Gobber didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure about where to begin. Tact was not a Viking strength in general, much less with him.

"How do I put this? You're not.. You haven't been doing so well lately," he tried. When Stoick didn't answer, he kept talking. "Ever since Hiccup disappeared yeh've been actin kinda weird. Staring off at who knows what, not really paying attention to people when they're talkin'. It's not who you are. Who knows. Maybe Hiccup is still alive, maybe he isn't. But it's not going ta help if you keep moping around. The people need a leader right now, ta help them through the winter, and they look up to you."

"Could you tell me something I didn't know already. Every time I wake up in the mornings there's something missing, and I don't like it."

"Having breakfast in bed, now are we?" Gobber examined his horrendously oversized fake tooth, then popped it in Stoick's still-full mug, which he had also managed to confiscate from the other side of the table.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. I know the village needs me.. It's just that.."

"That what?" prodded Gobber.

"I miss Hiccup. There. I admitted it!" Stoick threw his hands in the air. "I miss his face, I miss his familiar step. Hell, I even miss his sarcasm sometimes. Sure, he got into trouble sometimes, well, a lot of times, but it was normal. Now he's gone. Not to mention he's my heir." Stoick leaned back in his seat, then rubbed his beard. "I'm getting too old for this. First my wife, now my son. I wouldn't be surprised if you were next."

"Not me. I've lived too long to die just yet." Gobber finally fished up his fake tooth from the mug, then planted it firmly in his jaw. "Although I do miss my apprentice. Guess what?"

"What?"

"Hiccup actually makes – er, made most of the stuff in my shop. From the tiniest nails to the heaviest broadswords. He pretty much took over the place for himself."

"Really. I never heard that from him."

"I'm pretty sure that's because you didn't bother to ask. At any rate, a few more years and I would've retired. He'd almost earned it, believe that or not."

"And now he's gone. Maybe I took the wrong approach."

"Ah ah ah. Don't go around blaming yourself. If wishes were fishes we'd all cast.. Dammit, I forgot what I was supposed to say."

They both chuckled.

"Anyway, you can't just drown in your grief forever. If he's still alive, somehow, you're going to have to make it up to him, and then that'll be over with. If he's not," At this point Gobber shrugged. "then you remember him, the way he wanted to be remembered."

Stoick thought for a moment.

"I don't really know what he liked, as crazy as that sounds."

"Well, he always used to have this strange penchant for stacking his money just so. He'd make sure that every edge was lined up right, and if it wasn't, he'd bang it with his hammer till it was the way he liked it. Then he'd wrap it up in leather. It was one of his weirder ideas, he had a lot of those."

"Crazy ideas."

"Not all the time. You know my grinder, right?" Gobber asked, then continued without stopping for an answer. "That was his design. He'd bought some marbles from Johann a couple years back, but lost interest with them. Then one day when my old piece broke down he suddenly said 'aha!', and ran out of the shop just like that. When he came back he had those marbles in hand, and he dragged my machine into his corner and stayed there for two days. Lucky I had a few of the old sharpening stones."

"How tall of a tale is this?"

"I only added a few personal embellishments."

Stoick raised one of his eyebrows, obviously skeptical.

"Well, he was in his corner working for a day, making all sorts of noise even after I've left. When I came back in the morning, there was a brand new grinder, polished too, and it was just sitting in the middle of my shop with no apprentice in sight. I wouldn't underestimate him."

"Sometimes it seems that you know him better than I do."

"I wouldn't put it past myself."

The two men fell quiet and stared into the fire, each thinking of their own problems. For Stoick, it was trying to wrap his head around the fact that his last remaining family member was probably dead. 'Dead', the cynical part of his brain mocked him. 'That means he isn't going to come back, ever again. What are you going to do about it?' For Gobber, it was his old friend that worried him. Would he ever cheer up again, or would he sink into a black depression like he'd so nearly done after the death of his wife. For all Gobber's experience, he had absolutely no idea, and that was what scared him. On the bright side, there weren't going to be any more random explosions every other day.

Eventually the silence just got a little awkward.

"Ahem." Gobber made a horrendous fake cough. "In other news, Gruffnut and Oakberry were just betrothed yesterday. They're asking for the Chief's blessing. Had a nice dowry too. Think you should humor them?"

"What's an engagement without the Chief. Who am I to refuse." Stoick laughed, then stretched his arms.

Gobber grinned devilishly. Now this was the Stoick he remembered from the good old days, back when he'd been courting Valka and daring his brothers to jump off sea stacks a hundred feet above the crashing waves.

"Anything else I should know about?"

'Well, Mildew is wondering when he's going to get his mansion back, and how much money he can extort from you in delayed construction fees."

"They don't call him Mildew for nothing. Why he isn't covered in the stuff yet I can't imagine."

"Astrid's parents are getting along pretty well, given the situation. The Hoffersons were always a good bunch when it came down to the wire. And me undies haven't needed a cleaning for the last few weeks."

Stoick groaned.

"Things are all good on the home front. That's about all. Call me if you need me."

Gobber reached for his overcoat without looking, thinking that it would still be on the table where he'd left it, and was befuddled when he discovered that it wasn't there. He looked over and saw where it had slid onto the floor.

"So that's where you went, yeh little bugger."

He picked it up and put it on, not without some considerable fiddling with his buttons. Stoick saw that one of his boots was under the table and tossed it to him.

"Thanks."

Gobber stood up and made to go out, but paused midstep.

"If I ever collected all the money you owe me for therapy expenses, I'd be a rich man." With that he pulled on his gloves and opened the door. More snow blasted in, buffeting the hinges and making them creak. That reminded Stoick. He really needed to oil that darned thing. Finally the bulky form of Gobber disappeared into the night's fuzzy snow and the door closed, but not before a few, horribly out of tune notes of the blacksmith's favorite song seeped through the cracks.

 _Well I've got my axe and I've got my mace,_

 _I'm a Viking through and through,_

 _I've pulled my cart and I've set my pace,_

 _I'm a Viking through and through._

Stoick resisted the urge to roll his eyes and chuckled. Now he was looking forwards to a good night's rest, and his bed was looking more and more appealing every minute. His last conscious thoughts before falling asleep were of wishing Hiccup well, wherever he was.

 _Meanwhile, somewhere on Sword Island._

"Just because that looks edible to you doesn't mean that I'm going to eat it!"

The dragon was looking unabashedly at Hiccup, who was busy trying to inhale air through his mouth while Astrid tried not to laugh. A brownish-green pile of half digested something was pooled on the floor, with myriad strands of flesh protruding from the pile here and there. It smelled disgusting, even by viking standards. It was quite ridiculous, really, and anyone coming upon the scene could be forgiven for wondering how on Midgard this had happened.

The reason was this; being cooped up in a cave after the blizzard, Hiccup had naturally started to get rather hungry, and his stomach had begun to grumble, leaving him with a peculiar empty feeling that wouldn't go away. He'd fidgeted, and played tic-tac-toe with himself in the dirt (Astrid was sulking at the moment because she'd lost the fight), but with growing boys, their appetite grows almost as fast as their bodies, and soon he found himself ravenously hungry (thirst was another matter: there was more than enough snow around).

"Could someone actually get some food around here," he'd finally asked, and at the same time he had pointed to his stomach.

The dragon started to wretch, and to Hiccup it looked like it was to coughing up something from its bowels, or so it seemed from the awful racket it was making. Astrid, who'd known what was about to happen, edged away. Hiccup was not so lucky. When the goop finally came out after what seemed like a century of sneezing and hacking and shuffling, it had very nearly splattered his boots with the foul smelling fluid.

"When I asked for something to eat, this was definitely not what I had in mind." he deadpanned.

When it became clear that Hiccup was not going to eat what the dragon had 'prepared' for him, it decided to take matters into its own hands – er, claws.

Before Hiccup could resist, he'd been picked up by the scruff of his shirt and turned upside down by an inquisitive Nadder, his hair fluttering over his face every time the dragon took a breath. Then, slowly at first, but steadily accelerating, the dragon swung him over the steaming goo.

By the time Hiccup realized what Ocean was doing it was far too late. He struggled anyway.

"No. No no. Bad dragon! Put me down. Falling is not in my best interests right now!" He tried to kick but didn't have the leg strength to even faze the dragon, much less set himself free, and even then he would've dropped into the pile anyway.

Then, with an unceremonious 'plop', the dragon let go, and Hiccup's face became the new home for some partially digested rabbit. Astrid, who before could hardly contain her giggles, was now rolling around on the floor laughing fit to burst and pointing at his nose.

"It's not funny." he tried to say, but some goop got into his mouth and he had to spit it out. Astrid just kept on laughing. Evidently she thought it was very funny.

"Remind me never to let a dragon give me meals again," Hiccup said, just before he dunked his head into the snowpack. A few minutes later he wriggled out again, this time with _frozen_ partially digested rabbit mush stuck on his face and his hair slicked back, frosted over by the cold.

Almost an hour and a whole lot of.. choice.. words later, the last of the gunk was off, but the smell would remain on his skin for the next few days. Naturally, they were all trapped in a small cave where the smell would never have a chance to air out.

They all slept on opposite sides of the cavern that night.

 **How'd you like it? I've been away for a month, so I'd like to know if my writing standards are still up to par. Personally I feel like this is my best yet, but some feedback would definitely be appreciated.**


	17. Different Childhoods

**Congratulations to ChaMeleonNinja812 for figuring out last chapter's riddle. They were teeth, or teethses, as Gollum would say. Enjoy your chocolate cookie.**

 **(::)**

" **Why is a raven like a writing desk?"**

 **Trust me, there is an answer to this one. My sister accidentally came up with one the other day, despite the fact that this question was meant to be nonsensical.**

 **Written while listening to I'd Love to Change the World by Ten Years After, Through the Fire and Flames, both versions, and Pumping Adrenaline 1 by a man named Nick. Also, Rise Against – The Violence and Monody.**

Hiccup was hungry. No, scratch that. He was almost starving. At the moment he was cooped up inside a small cave, having not eaten anything since before their run from the wolves and subsequent dragon fight, with said dragon currently residing next to them, which really wasn't helping his nerves at all. Oh, and had he mentioned that they were snowed in by a monster drift created by probably the worst snowstorm on the island since at least before he'd been born? No, and that wasn't helping either.

At any rate it didn't look like they'd be getting outside any time soon, and from personal experience this storm could last for days on end before blowing itself out. Which led to them being royally screwed.

Still, he had an idea for a prototype ice-box he could make that would stay cooler for a longer time and prevent food from spoiling, which was nasty (and he should know, because sometimes his father _really_ needed to pay more attention to where he left the meat) and would probably be a godsend to one of his distant cousins who could barely afford to…

Hiccup's musings were interrupted by a close thud and a kicking noise, followed by tiny crystals of snow drifting down from the white wall beside him and onto his nose.

"Stupid snow!"

Naturally, it was Astrid, who had long ago decided that there wasn't enough space inside the den, and was attempting to break out of the drift and out into the open. Preferably not with her bare hands. Even Vikings weren't that dumb.

Astrid kicked the drift again, but the snow was about as responsive as a doorknob. She paused, looked back at the dragon, which hadn't stirred, then blew on her hands a few times before kicking the snow again. Water pooled around her feet as the ice melted from the cozy heat of the den.

"Need a shovel?", Hiccup asked, standing up and brushing himself off. "Because I don't think you're going to break through by just kicking the snow."

"I don't see how else I'm going to do it. And besides, I'm bored." Astrid began grumbling under her breath about something Hiccup decided he might not want to hear.

"I'm bored too. And more than a little uneasy. Dragons, after all." He gestured to the dozing Nadder just behind them. "Maybe we could have a chat instead?"

Astrid didn't even waste a breath to consider.

"No. I'm getting out of here. Smells too much like dragon breath and fish for me to be sitting around comfortably chatting with you while the blasted snow just keeps on coming and coming. It's something to do while the snow keeps pounding away at the surface until we all die in here, or else find some means of escape." She paused, then said, "At least we're not dragon food. Then we'd smell even more terrible."

Hiccup couldn't help but stifle a chuckle.

"It's nice to know you have a sense of humor, even if it is directed at me most of the time."

He began to work the snow. It was a simple rhythm. Make a furrow with your fingers. Scoop, then dump it in a pile to your side. Blow on your hands a little, then put them in a pocket to warm up. Take them out, blow on your hands for a little more warmth, make a furrow with your fingers, and so on until you got too cold. Step back, have Astrid step in. Listen to her make the same rhythm. Let her step back, take her spot, and repeat.

After a little while, Hiccup had a question, and they began to talk.

"Do you have a brother?"

"It's not really a question of whether or not I have a brother rather than how many I have. One that's older than me by two years, and a few younger ones. And I have a baby sister. She'd be a year old by now. I've missed her first birthday." Astrid frowned.

"Are they all as annoying as me? That would be a shame."

"It's not that they're particularly bad, especially compared to you. They do boy stuff, and it bothers me sometimes when they don't listen to me. All boasting that they were going to be the next greatest warriors when they grew up and that kind of thing. Mostly my big brother."

"What's he look like? I might of seen him at the forge but I'm not sure."

"He's about average in height. Thinner than my dad but only by a little. He has golden hair like me and a big nose. Oh, and he likes his tunics brown with a red stripe down the middle."

"Yeah. I've seen him. I was working on some nails this summer when a guy comes up and hands in his sword, says he wants it fixed and right away. Well, Gobber was mad cause' he'd disrupted our nail-making – you know how he is, doesn't like any interruptions -, and yelled at him to go away. I stopped cause Gobber stopped, and I look over there, and there's a fellow in a curious tunic scarpering away like a yak on loco. Then we went back to work. But I've definitely seen him."

"That's my brother. He can be terribly oblivious when he's not paying attention, especially when he's got his mind centered on one thing. Did you know that once he fell off the docks because he was running an errand for my father and forgot about where his feet were supposed to go? It was pretty urgent too."

"I did not. What's his name? Gotta attach a name to all these misadventures."

"Torenn. That was my great-grandfather on my mother's mother's side."

"I think he was my grandfather's lieutenant back then. Good name."

"My parents are hoping he'll live up to it. What I'm hoping is that someone will deflate his ego, preferably before he goes and gets himself killed in some mad pursuit for glory." A moment passed without conversation before Astrid felt the need to elaborate. "Torenn's not really that bad. I'm just making him seem that way. What about you?"

"I'm an only child. Life for me consists of trying to avoid dad's awful cooking and working at the forge. I get a little time to invent if I'm lucky, but that's rare."

"Did you just say the chief was bad at cooking?"

"He doesn't try to be, it's just that he can't help burning whatever he's trying to make. Running the village is a full-time job, and with all that sometimes he just forgets. Although if it wasn't for me the house would probably have burned down a million times. Especially because of the stew."

"He burned stew." Astrid said, not quite believing it. Hiccup said nothing, only nodded. "He burned _stew._ How do you burn something that's eighty percent water?"

"A dragon raid came when he was making dinner late because he had to solve a dispute. So there he is, making dinner, and then he hears the horn blow for a dragon attack. That night was one of the worst dragon raids for years. He fights hard for the village, delegates the cleanups, puts out the fires, and gets home just before dawn, only to find a stew-turned-rock so hard you could've broke a tooth on it. That was just the icing on the cake for a disastrous night."

"How does he even feed himself?"

"Meh. After that he usually just ate in the Great Hall unless he had to cook at home. And now you know why I make my own food."

"My mother is a great cook, but one year the hunting was bad, so we ate more from our garden. I remember biting down on a carrot and not being able to eat it because it was so stringy. That night we had a vegetable mash with some beef mixed in. I'll never know how she got it so smooth, but it was one of my best dinners."

"She probably cut up the root crops and soaked them in vinegar for a while. I find that improves the taste, which probably was what she did. I don't really know, I've never tasted your mother's cooking."

"I'll keep that in mind." said Astrid. She blew on her hands again before sticking them in her pockets to warm them up.

They kept working. An hour later they had progressed almost two feet into the snowpack on all sides, and they took a rest. If the drift was as thick as Hiccup thought it was then they could be through by the late afternoon, or what passed for an afternoon, given that the storm had not let up yet. It was warm work, except for their hands, and they risked dozing off by taking a break. Still, they were tired from the running and fighting of the past few days, and a small sleep wouldn't do too much harm, right? They fell asleep.

At about noon the storm abated some, though a chilling wind still blew frozen dusts over the island, less snow fell with every hour, and in less than an hour the snowfall had become much less than before, though it would never truly stop. Wild things poked out of their holes questioningly and the birds began to twitter once more.

A snowshoe rabbit excavated snow from over one of the meadows with its huge hind foot to get at the grass beneath, while chickadees danced about on the precarious branches above the ground far below and sang their chirping songs. The deer, who at the start of the blizzard had immediately fled for shelter on the lee side of the many rocks and wind brakes on the island, tentatively ventured forth to their yards in search of greens to eat now that the worst was over.

Inside the cave a small pool of water was forming from the snow on the floor that had been moved by the humans.

Slowly but growing faster the snow melted, and the pool, which was really more of a puddle, began to explore the terrain, rather rapidly becoming a bigger puddle, connecting with the snow and ice on the floor and melting that too until it reached the very feet of Hiccup, who at that moment was dreaming that wild woozles had come up and started to nibble at his clothing to get fabric for their nests, and as they nibbled and nibbled his feet became colder and colder until he woke up with an – Ow! And there was that.

And at the same time the same thing was happening to Astrid except that she was dreaming of being flamed by dragons but at the same time the fire had turned cold and that she was stuck by her bare feet to a stone floor with her toes freezing off until – Ow! And then she woke up too.

And as she looked around Hiccup decided to make a very sarcastic but very true remark.

"Well, we've certainly slept in."

Roughly a quarter of the cave was covered in a thin film of clear water that shone with the dull gray reflection of the rock ceiling which faded to bright blue scales where the pool nearly touched against the nose of the great creature.

Ocean stirred in her sleep, her dreams interrupted by a noise outside of her control. Everything was warm and fuzzy and the urge to open her eyes was distant. Then she felt a faint pang of hunger. While a dragon sleepy is a dragon reluctant, a hungry dragon is a force to be reckoned with. She opened her eyes.

Where the entrance had been there was nothing but snow. The two-legs, who had been making a steady recovery, instantly went into a fight stance, but without their shiny claws, she had nothing to fear from them. She stretched, then plowed through the snow and went outside.

"You've got to be kidding me.", said Hiccup. Astrid was more vocal.

"We've been sticking our cold hands into the freezing snow trying to get through all this time and then a dragon comes along and just spears through it!"

 **Somewhere over the Irish coast.**

A lone dragon wheeled across the sky. It was a Nadder, and it was Stulte.

 **A/N:**

 **Anyone catch the reference? No? It's just me? Nuts.**

 **This is the shortest chapter I have ever published. And that suits me just fine for the moment, because like a donkey I've forgotten to write down any plot whatsoever while I wasn't writing. So I'm still working on that. Before I hear any complaints may I remind you that I didn't _have_ to write this story, and I didn't _have_ to come back to it. **

**The ending of it wasn't so good, and like I said before, definitely going to have to do some more plot work, maybe even redo some parts of the story.**

 **Donuts!**

 **On that happy note, this is B. Avar, over and out.**

 **I may be losing my touch. Hmmm.**


	18. Portraying Life's Beauty

**A/N.**

 **Another day, another chapter. I'm thinking of doing this bi-weekly.**

 **At some point on Tuesday September 2017, this story passed three thousand views. Now all I have to do is get to five thousand. Sigh.**

 **Made while listening to I Got a Name by Jim Croce, The Sound of the Shire, and Stevie Nick's Edge of Seventeen. Under Pressure by Queen included as well. Of course, no party would be complete without Buffalo Springfield either.**

 **Most of this chapter is shown in the first person point of view or exposition.**

 **~B. A**

The sky was pallid as we trudged through the soft new snow that blanketed the ground. The stuff spilled into my boots and clung to my socks, then melted and squished with every step I took. White moisture emanated from my mouth as my breath instantly froze. My lips were dry and the back of my throat sore, yet I did not stop for a drink or handful of snow.

A wind from the north blew unceasingly, ruffling my hair and blowing up the seams of my coat wherever it could find leakage.

My shortbow was slung over my back, and a single arrow, the only one that Hiccup could salvage, was stuffed into my worn belt.

Hiccup walked at my side, green eyes constantly scanning the forest around us for any trace of game, while simultaneously watching for dangerous animals. Somewhere out there the wolves still roamed on the island, and he was taking no chances. For that matter, neither was I. Our stomachs were empty, and I knew that if we could not find food fast enough then we would run out of energy. Sooner or later we would have to eat, or else fall asleep and simply not wake up. This was fact.

I plunged into a rill in the ground and Hiccup followed me. Leading straight and downwards, it would prevent us from going in circles. The soil here was relatively clear of snow where the snow had blown over the depression. Not having to slog through the cumbersome snow was refreshing, I thought as I trampled over the leaves that had fallen to the forest floor. An old watercourse cut through the terrain here and through the trees, leading downhill until it inevitably joined a stream or brook. Perhaps animals would come to drink there, and if I was lucky I'd get a shot. Maybe even a kill.

The pungent scent of pine needles invaded my chilled nostrils. Heavy boughs leaned over the path like the inside of a tent, only it wasn't as warm.

The bottom of the watercourse we were following turned to gravel. It was slippery, but not overly so, and our boots crunched on the rough surface.

I threw a glance over my shoulder. No threat appeared, or showed itself. It was the stress getting to me, like it was getting to Hiccup. I made longer strides, just in case.

Ten more minutes of uneasy travel later we arrived at a small waterfall where the rill, now a brook, had fallen off an overhang and into another winding course. There was no running water here, but ice had gathered in the stream bed, so we took that as a good sign. By now I had lost most of my sense of direction, but I reckoned the water led south, and we followed it.

All this time my ribs, which I thought had been broken but were only sprained, had been throbbing while we walked, and after another fifteen minutes of walking, Hiccup noticed that I seemed to be in pain.

But I said nothing, and so he said nothing, though I gather he was bothered by it. After ten minutes more we took a break by the stream, which had been steadily growing larger as more rills joined it until it was at least three feet across, while a little rivulet of running water had formed and was now seeping along the ice.

"I'm fine." I said. But I didn't believe it, and neither did he, for he scowled and looked away.

After a while the pain faded, and I felt well enough to continue.

What I really needed was rest. Two weeks of struggling to survive had taken their toll on my body as well as mind, not to mention the days spent fleeing for our lives. There are two kinds of exhausted; the good kind, where you go to bed with a feeling of a job well done and wake up with a smile; and the bad kind. Perpetual exhaustion. It didn't take a genius to figure out which kind we were experiencing.

I pushed on, avoiding drifts where I could to save energy and helping Hiccup when he was stuck. The stream began to flow again. Here and there tiny tracks marked where small animals had come to drink and clean their fur. A bobcat watched us go by, then slipped off his perch and disappeared into the forest from his oaken perch. The higher altitude stands of pine were giving way to copses of birch and walnut with spanning branches that spread out over the sky to create a meager canopy.

The first rabbits began to appear, first in ones and twos, then in threes and small groups that would feed together and drink in the water that was now happily gurgling and bubbling along the lower banks until it was up to where my ankles would be in places, and always flowing and never really staying still, while the rabbits and the wild boars (related to woozles) calmly merged into the brush whenever I got within thirty paces of one, much too long a shot for my bow, even if I had had more arrows to spare.

The trees thinned out ahead of us, and soon it became clear that there was a woody glade up ahead, which I could just see if I strained my eyes to look through the brush. Muffled oinks and snorts told of where a group of wild sows had decided to come to the meadow. I signaled Hiccup to stop; much depended on whether or not I got a good shot, and I sure as niflheim didn't want our crashing through the woods to spoil it.

Beginning carefully, I circled to the east to make sure our scents didn't alert the pigs to our presence, for the wind, coming from the north, could ruin everything. After moving some paces, I paused to listen for the unmistakable sounds. They had not changed either in frequency or tempo. Either they had not smelled us approaching, or they were not yet acquainted with humans and had simply ignored us. I voted for the former. Still, I circled another hundred yards before I judged that it was safe to approach the meadow.

We had gone about a quarter of the way around the glade when I cautiously poked my head through the thickest of the brush.

Two wild boars roamed on opposite sides of the stream, which ran through the far side of the glade. A few sows rooted through the glade at the roots of the solitary tree in the middle, too far for a shot. The rotten husk of a fallen tree lay only ten paces in front of me, and one of the pigs looked like it might come over to investigate the snow-covered fungus that grew on it.

Luck was with me at that moment, for at that moment one of the sows immediately broke off from the main group to do just that. The larger boar on the near side rushed over and tried to gain her favor, but she rebuked his advances and continued towards the fallen log. I tensed, gingerly detached my arrow from my belt, took off my right glove.

The sow came within twenty paces, still oblivious to its fate. The boar, too, came closer, and blocked my shot. They paused, bickering with each other. For a moment it looked like they might turn back, but as if hearing my prayers, the sow tossed the male aside and scampered over to the mushrooms, started nibbling on them.

I put my arrow to the string and waited for the prey to relax. Once again the boar came closer. The sow turned and barked him away. While the two pigs had an argument I pulled back the string, and as the boar finally left I let fly.

The arrow flew low and to the right of my aiming point, smashing the pig in its rear hip and sending it spinning backwards into a rock with a shrill squeal. The other pigs looked and fled as the sow lost blood, the arrow having ripped open its belly.

I stepped out of the brush and put it out of its misery by snapping its neck. Then I began to retrieve the arrow.

It had dug deep into the flesh when it hit, and pierced the bones. I turned over the pig and found the head unmarred, for I had feared that it had cracked on the rocks. Unfortunately, under further investigation the shaft had snapped. Now my only arrow was broken.

Hiccup stepped out of the brush.

"Good kill. I'll get the firewood."

I nodded, then began to clean off the arrowhead in the snow. I did not rip open the pig's belly because it was cold enough for bloating not to be a problem.

Hiccup began beating around the clearing while I gathered rocks and smoothed away the dirt and snow around the pig and from its body so that it would not get too wet to cook. Setting up a fireplace was almost second nature to me by now, so much so that by the time I was done Hiccup was just coming back with his first load of wood. We would need more than that to start a real fire, but I broke the branches down to a more manageable size anyway.

Hiccup came up to me with another, noticeably smaller load of firewood in his arms and dumped it on the ground.

"There's not enough firewood left to cook the meat.", he said, grimly surveying the small brush pile we had built up. "I'll go into the forest and look for more."

I started to protest, but he put up a hand. "I'll be fine Astrid, just keep the meat safe. You can't cook it if it isn't there. Too risky." He was right of course, but going into the forest alone was just as risky without a buddy with him. He could be attacked by wolves or fall into a chasm and I'd never know, much less be able to aid him.

"You can start the fire while I'm gone. And don't forget the tinder." With that he turned away and strode out of the clearing, leaving me rather frustrated.

Still, I decided, it wasn't like I was being jumped by wolves, so there was that.

I cut away a strip of bark from a dead branch using the edge of the arrowhead, then began to shave it into smaller slivers until it was completely gone. The razor-sharp flint was hard to handle, and I took off my unwieldy homemade gloves. Hiccup might have been smart, but he didn't know how to sew.

It stung my fingers a little, but in time I had a pile of tiny wood cuttings bunched together on the only dry surface I could find, coincidentally, my glove. But they needed to be smaller. Slice by slice I minced them like one would a carrot, until the bark had turned into a fluffy-looking brown ball. Now for the next strip of bark, and the next.

Larger shavings I made for the fire when it ran out of tinder and had not enough heat to burn the smaller branches. I also used twigs for this, and wood rot from the fallen log I scooped up by the handful and brought to the stones.

Once I had accumulated what I thought was enough and sheltered it from the wind, I arranged the firewood so that it looked something like a tiny tepee, a shape that I hoped would retain the heat from the fledgling flame. I grabbed the ball of shavings with care and placed in the middle of the stones. Then I looked around for a piece of metal to use. I didn't have much other than my ruined knife and a belt buckle.

It was worth a try.

I took out the twisted blade, if it could even be called that anymore, and winced. The normally shining steel had been blunted horribly and bent almost double, while the handle had been distorted and cracked nearly in two so that it was unrecognizable. Considerably sized spots of rust decorated parts of the metal in places, some of them at least the width of my finger.

This was not a special knife for me, but I had put my name on the grip just so that if I lost it people wouldn't think it unclaimed. The lettering had been totally eviscerated. It was a wreck, but not a total loss to anyone with a forge. Alas, we did not have a one of those, and I had to make do. Still, it looked like a dragon had stepped on it, and remembering my unpleasant stay at that cave, one probably had.

Trying to strike a piece like that against the flint would be impossible, or at the very least extremely hard to do, so I set about getting the thing back into a decent shape. First I tried pounding it with a larger rock, about a little larger than my palm, but that was too large and cumbersome for me to handle, and so I chose a smaller one, longer and thinner than the first with a rounded end, and after some careful work, for it was cold and the steel could've been brittle, I had a straight looking blade, which I began to whet, something which I had much more experience in. It still took a lot of time.

Once I could feel a noticeable edge and a sticky feeling as I moved the knife across my finger I figured that it was done, at least in a couple of places. I had also polished off the rust as best I could, although there were still places where the metal was duller as a result.

I touched the steel to the flint and struck forcibly. Sparks flew in multiple directions, but none of them caught. I was not close enough. I leaned forward and struck again. Sparks flew, and a few hit the tinder, but all of them were quickly blown out by the north wind, which had steadily increased from a tiny breeze to a gush to a constant, chilling wash of freezing air that stole my body heat and took away my breath.

I positioned my body to protect the fire-pit from the wind and tried again, this time with marginal success. The spark caught a little and tiny wisps of smoke began to rise from the pile, but then a gust came and it blew out before I could feed it. A few more failed tries revealed that the bark, though dry, was simply not fine enough for a spark to reliably catch.

Back to the cutting board.

Once I had turned the pile of tiny fluffy shavings into a pile of infinitesimal fluffy shavings I put the tinder nest back in the fire pit (taking care not to get any of it wet), and struck again.

This time the spark didn't go out, and I leaned forwards and watched as a tiny plume of smoke rose from the pile, curling and eddying until it was carried away. A small flame flickered like a wisp, then died down. It needed air.

I exhaled on it gently, contracting my stomach slowly to force the air out, not daring to blow any harder for fear that I would extinguish the tiny fire prematurely. The baby fire luminously flared reddish-orange and began to spread. I reached for a tiny twig and delicately dropped it into the warmest part of the glow, holding my breath as I did.

For a moment the fire seemed to go out. But then the light came back, there was a crackle and a pop, and the twig seemed to brown and peel. Excited, I reached for another twig and some wood rot, put that in slowly. The fire dimmed once more, but less this time, and ate that too. I blew on it again, then brought a piece of bark, which was in the process of being consumed almost before I had set it down.

Piece by piece I built the fire until the original tinder was gone and it was feeding on tiny branches and wood rot, which I was nearly out of, and ten minutes after that I had a decent sized campfire going. Though not big enough to cook anything large in a decent amount of time, it would handle smaller pieces of meat just fine, so I began to butcher the pig.

As it turns out, sows are not so different from rabbits except for in the legs, and it did not take me long to find the seam with which I was able to skin the animal. Then I cut off its right hock and lopped off some of the belly with my knife, though it took me longer than it should have, and readied them to roast by slicing them into thinner pieces.

Only once I had finished this and fed the fire again with some of the dwindling supply of firewood did I begin to worry. Hiccup had not gotten back yet, although he should have been here half an hour ago. I decided that if he was not back by the time dusk fell I would go looking for him, although I had no idea where he'd gone.

Fortunately it didn't take me long to find out. Hiccup plunged through the brush at the edge of the clearing, near the stream, and into the snowy meadow. He was carrying part of a log in both arms with some wood stashed over top of it, while his right hand held something that I could not see. He seemed to be severely taxed, and I came towards him so that I could relieve him of some of the load.

"What took you so long?" I asked him when I had finally got to him and he was unloading some of the firewood on me. Then he stopped and took a breath, though he didn't stop walking towards the fire. When we had reached it he nodded appreciatively at the meat, put down his log, pulled up a chair and sat. Then he began to talk.

"I got lost in a gully while I was looking for some larger pieces of wood, maybe a fallen branch.", at this he gestured at the piece of wood lying on the ground beside him. "When I got out I couldn't really make heads or tails of where I was, so I reckoned the direction I thought I'd come from and headed back, or what I thought was back. Dumb decision I know. Should've just followed my tracks. Anyway once I'd been walking for about ten minutes or so I figured I'd been going the wrong direction, and by that time the wind would've erased my tracks. It picked up after I left."

I nodded.

"So there I was, mostly lost with nowhere to go, so I just headed North, which was my second reckoning of the way home. I saw some deer out in the woods. They're out in the snow and not yarding yet, which is a good sign (for those who don't know, yarding is when a group of deer find a place, usually a place that is grassy in the summer, to spend the rest of the winter. A large group will clear out the snow and make it less laborious for them to walk and find food). So I kept going until I ran smack-dab into a gravel bed. And there was flint. So I gathered some. There wasn't much to begin with, and I dropped a bit in the snow, but here it is.", and he held out the hand that he had been keeping secret with an open palm.

There were five or six flakes of it in his hand, as well as two larger chunks. It was grayish-white with creamy bits in the lumps, and the flakes of it were slate gray. None of it was edged, but that could be easily fixed. I took it from him and set it aside.

"How'd you get back?" I asked?

"I bumped into the brook and didn't recognize the scenery, so I headed upstream and got back. I can see you've been busy while I was gone." He looked at the meat, still laying by the fire. "What else did you do?"

"I salvaged the knife. Mostly. And I started a fire and cut up dinner."

Hiccup smiled.

"Dinner. I never thought I'd be so glad to hear that word. How long has it been since we've had a really big meal? This looks like paradise right here. I could probably eat the entire pig all by myself, let alone you."

"Yeah. Can you believe its only been two weeks since we've washed up here?"

"Really?"

"I think so."

"It just seems so much longer than that, you know? Our parents must be worried sick about us right now. Gobber at the docks, saying we're gone to our parents. He would be home by now. If he's even gotten home at all."

It was a grim thought, and neither of us said anything for a moment. Then Hiccup put on the bacon, and we looked out over the meadow.

"At least we're still alive.", said Hiccup. "Even after all the crap life has thrown at us, we've still made it. So far, I've been thrown into the sea, nearly drowned, nearly frozen, been chased by wolves, fought a dragon and survived living together with you for a month. I still think that's pretty lucky."

"It's a crazy life out there."

"I just never thought I'd end up here. Kinda puts the world into perspective, don't you think. Hey! It's not cloudy anymore."

Indeed. The winter clouds had partially been blown away by the wind while we talked, and the sky in the west was clear.

Dinner was eaten amicably that night, and by the time we had dragged out some pine boughs to sleep on the sun was already setting behind the trees. There are few words that could describe that evening, as we watched the clouds scud above our heads, warmly glowing in the light of the sun.

When night fell, I was asleep almost before I was on the ground.

Still a work in progress.

 **A/N.**

 **Warning. Do not read the last part while listening to The Sound of the Shire. I have ignored this.**

 **Beta'd by harrypanther.**


	19. Rebuilding and Recovery

**A/N:**

 **We are now at ninety thousand words! I am very excited because of the possibility of reaching 100,000 sometime soon.**

 **Hey again. Here's today's riddle. I forgot to do one for last chapter, so it's the least I can do. Enjoy your victory cookies!**

" **What loses its head in the morning, but gets it back at night?"**

 **Made while listening to Kay Kyser's Jingle Jangle Jingle, Ain't No Rest For The Wicked and most of the old OneRepublic songs like Counting Stars and Good Life. I also listen to Bruce Springsteen, including Born to Run and Born in The USA. Cheers for Ennio Morricone. I've listened to almost all of his works. And the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack as well.**

 **Does anyone actually listen to this music?**

 **~B. Avar.**

Cold. That was my first feeling when I woke up in the early morning. The wind blew over my boots and into my coat, blowing away all of the snug layer of warmth that I'd accumulated during the night. My toes felt cold and I wiggled them. They were stiff, but not frozen, and I arched my feet so as to warm them up until I could get the fire going.

Above me the sky was clear with only a few clouds that glowed light blue with some of the faint light that was coming from the east, and the crisp air I let blow over my face and into my nostrils. It was fresh and new, and I could smell the scent of pine needles coming from the evergreens, which whispered on the wind gently, rustling their branches.

I sat up and looked around. Hiccup snoozed on the other side of the firepit, still sleeping.

The fire had settled while we slept, but a few glowing embers still remained at the bottom of the stones, which would make it easier to get a flame going. A bough and some sticks lay a few feet away where I had left them in the evening, although I couldn't immediately see what had become of our pig until I craned my head and found the stone where the sow had been laid earlier, and though it had slumped down a little and was probably frozen, no predator had come to steal it during the time I was out, which was a good sign.

Once I had made an inventory of the camp, I got up and stretched, not being able to help a small yawn, then reached for some firewood. I got it, then poked sticks one at a time into small cracks in the logs and blew on them. They caught, and I sat down and warmed my hands for several minutes in the warm glow of the fire and getting more firewood at times.

A flame showed itself, and the new wood popped and crackled, especially when I threw in a pine cone, and little red pieces of ash flew out of the fire as sparks every time it made the sounds, floating until they ran out of wind and fell down onto the snow, gently.

Satisfied that the fire wasn't going to burn itself out, I left and looked for more firewood. There was plenty of upright brush that I hadn't gotten to yesterday, or had overlooked, and once I had grabbed that and a bundle of sticks from a branch that I'd ripped down, I had gathered an armful of what I needed. I threw half of that on and saved the rest, then left for more until I had a pretty decent pile resting on the snow that would last me the morning.

The upmost tip of the sun was just peeking over the horizon when Hiccup awoke with a yawn and sat up just as I tossed an armful of wood into the fire. He got a face full of sparks and fell into the snow on his back, spluttering at me with a half-hearted scowl on his face, but when he got up I could see that he was really grinning.

"Wake up sleepyhead. I've been awake for almost half an hour already.", I said.

"Yeah, and if I'd known what you were gonna do I would've stayed asleep." Hiccup wiped off the back of his coat.

"There was no way I could've known that you were going to choose that exact moment to stick your head out. I thought you were going to stay asleep. Besides, I need your help making breakfast."

The word breakfast seemed to cheer him up a little, and soon he had helped me rig up a spit to roast the meat with, along with some flat pieces of stone he had found for some plates.

Unfortunately I couldn't find any sort of pan to collect the juices with, and that was annoying, but we made do, and soon I had cut up a leg and more of the belly to roast, though it was tough going with the flesh so cold and stiff. The tendon I did not sever, but worked around with my knife until it was isolated. It would serve as a good binding for new arrows, and I set it closer to the fire so that it could warm and become more supple.

It was a big sow, I thought as I surveyed the remaining meat, and could easily last us the day and until next morning, if we rationed ourselves.

We talked and made jokes together until the food was ready, and ate without any utensils or spices whatsoever. By the time I was finished my face and hands were so greasy that I would have been instantly excused from any decent table back in Berk, but it was good food, and I did not mind it besides having to wipe my face and hands on a strip of frozen moss. It made a terrible handkerchief. We had only small second helpings.

Hiccup leaned back and yawned. "That tasted really good. What I'm wondering is whether or not we had to be starving for it to taste this nice."

"Probably not." I said. "When winter's over we should probably try putting in some flavorings. It was good, but I couldn't help but feel the meat was a little.. bland."

"Yeah. When the first thaw comes then that'll be paradise."

"Except for the bears."

"There aren't any bears on this island, at least, I haven't seen one."

"Given that there are already wolves and deer and dragons, why not bears? They're just in hibernation right now, but they'll come out in the spring and eat all our stuff, again."

Hiccup laughed.

"Then I'd chase them off our property with a pike and extreme prejudice, swearing at them at the top of my lungs."

I smiled.

"Mm. I can't quite see it. Usually you're the one running away from the animals chasing you, screaming in a very undignified manner and waiting for someone to save you. And don't pretend that that isn't exactly what happens every time you outside when there's a dragon raid."

"Well, to my credit, I actually stood my ground and fought the last time we stumbled into a dragon."

"Only to get knocked out five seconds into the fight." I pointed out.

"More like thirty.", Hiccup said, "You just didn't see me fighting because you were too busy fighting yourself."

"No, I'm pretty sure you got knocked out in five seconds."

"Ten."

"Fine. Still beat you though."

"Meh. It's the thought that counts. Anyway, I'm going to start looking for some nice shafts for a new arrow. Thank Odin the bow survived, um. What was its name again?"

"Silencer."

"Thanks. That might take a while though, since I'll still have to make a new arrowhead and bind it. And Thor knows where I'll get the feathers, if I don't use pine fronds. That was the worst part last time, finding all the fletchings. I hate crows." He shivered.

"Me too. I remember this one time when a couple of 'em got into our grain cellar. Torenn chased them off, but we had to scrape bird poop off our barley for the next few days, and Mom was seething, because it was the worst stuff to get off food, you know? All gungy and it smelled terrible."

"I've never had to experience that, thank you. So I wouldn't have any idea."

"It was pretty bad. Then Mom had Dad board up the larder. I was only.. mm, seven or eight when that happened."

"What I wouldn't give for a loaf of bread right now." Hiccup said. "Or a hunk of venison. A nice steak, simmering over the fire in a homemade clay pot -"

"Shut up. The wolves have probably eaten it all by now, the beasts." I grumbled. "But at least we made em' pay for it."

"I was only making a joke. That seems a little harsh. At least you haven't punched me yet, as you seem wont to do every time I make an annoying remark."

I nailed him in the shoulder with my fists, but not too hard.

"You know what? Forget I ever said anything."

I chucked a piece of wood at him, just in case. It missed, though Hiccup ducked anyway.

"Are you done inflicting me with physical harm or are you just getting started?", he asked.

"Yes. I'm not going to throw anything at you, at least for the time being."

"Only for the time being!"

"Well, it is hard to resist messing with you, especially when you're all zoned out. I call it the invention look."

"The invention look. Ha ha ha." he said, then looked to the sky. A bank of clouds was rolling in, ending the short spell of clear weather. "It's getting late though. I think we should start working soon, especially if we want a shelter going by the time a storm hits.", and he looked at the sky again. "Looks like snow."

"And we'll need meat to last us through the storm as well." I added. "I can make some basic snare traps with my knife, but I'll need my bow for any real hunting, especially for the larger animals."

Within moments the atmosphere of the glade had gone from merry and content to deadly serious.

"There might be some stuff left at our old camp, but the trip would be too risky." Hiccup pronounced. "I think our best chance is going to be finding a shelter and getting food. The wind shouldn't bother us too much, we're not on top of a hill, but I'm worried about firewood. As for arrows, I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. It's going to be close."

We spent most of the morning clearing the snow-filled meadow of any obstacles, gathering firewood, and setting the foundations of a makeshift shelter. Hiccup gathered the remains of mossy leaf litter and mixed it with some low hanging pine boughs to make what would hopefully become the roof of the new setup. The only question was where to put it.

Hiccup wanted to build the tent, for that was what it was, bang up against the trees on the north-eastern side for more protection against the wind and snow, but I preferred to have it in the center of the natural clearing for more vision. When the gusts picked up Hiccup won the argument, and he began to pound bolt holes into the frozen ground while I gathered sticks and some of the larger boughs to act as braces for our structure, as well as weight-stones to keep the walls from blowing away.

The framework was finished soon after, and we began to weave smaller sticks and debris into the gaps between the ribs of the structure until it was reasonably strong. Then the final step began, putting a cover on top to keep the breeze from permeating the tent. Our materials ran out when we had covered just over half of the roof with pine needles and organic matter. Then Hiccup took a break to begin making the arrows and I went off to forage.

When I returned Hiccup was just binding a new flint to its shaft. He had already recovered the crows' feathers from the old arrow and attached them to the new one, and this was the final step. Another, stone tipped arrow lay on the ground with what looked like spruce fletchings.

I retrieved my bow and started work on the tent-house until Hiccup finished his work, which took more time than I had expected. I turned to leave.

"Good luck." I head Hiccup say.

"Thank you."

* * *

When Ocean arrived at the cave fresh from the hunt she did not at first notice that the humans had gone, but when she saw that their fresh scent had faded and a trail led out across the snow, she knew that they had left. Hopefully they would be all right, for she had run into the wolf pack while hunting and knew that they still roamed the woods.

One of the pack tried to circle her when she encountered them, and a few made feints, but they were not as hungry as they had been before by dint of hunting the animals that had since made their appearance above ground, and as such had not been really dangerous to Ocean, though she blew a few gouts of fire at them just in case.

They left her well enough alone after that, and she had been able to catch a wild boar in reasonably short order, as it had already been fleeing from some predator. Fortunately, she did not encounter whatever that had been, and after catching some more prey, retired to a forest wind break to digest her food before returning to her den.

A trail led steadily south, but the deep snow hindered Ocean's nose and she could not follow it easily. When she investigated she found that the two humans had plunged into a water-formed gash in the ground under a tight canopy in the forest that she could not get through without much effort and many scratches. Abandoning the trail, she did not go back to her cave, instead opting to explore the forest.

Some of it she had already seen, such as the stand of oaks and the owl confined to its tree, which still hooted at her and made a fuss whenever she went through the area, but there were little ravines everywhere and she busied herself with seeing all the natural watercourses the forest had to offer, and in one place even discovered a small waterfall perfectly frozen with all its features preserved, glistening with the rest of the white snow, though the sky was still gray.

A sixth sense told Ocean that the weather would clear, though it was the taste of the air and the wind more likely. A dry cold front was rolling in from the north-east and was pushing all the clouds away to the south.

Ocean enjoyed the sunset from on top of a bare hill, the upper parts of the sky a deep blue while the sun lit the sea brilliant yellow and orange.

When she arrived at the den she was both tired and happy, and she fell asleep on the floor almost as soon as she had heated the floor with her fire.

The night passed and morning found Ocean already awake and ready to go. To satiate her morning hunger she caught two small rabbits, yearlings by the color of their winter coat, and ate them.

With that accomplished she unfurled her right wing, which had been injured in the crash. It ached and hurt with a dull pain sometimes, but the bone had managed to heal itself fairly well, though she estimated she would not be able to manage more than a lazy glide without hurting her wing further, though she was anxious to try.

With that in mind she stood at the top of a fifty foot cliff that protruded out of the surrounding land and over a stand of particularly short fir trees that she reckoned might break her fall. Had she been just a little bit younger she would have simply climbed onto a sturdy branch in order to take off, but she had grown too much over the years to accomplish such a feat.

She spread her wings and jumped off, banked too much and over corrected for her mistake, slipped sideways through the air, and somehow landed on her talons after crashing through what had to have been at least twenty feet of pine needles. Hmm. Perhaps she was getting rusty. Now to get back up.

After a long detour around the back of the cliff to find the slope that she had originally traveled up to reach her jumping off spot. Then she adjusted her wings and tried again. This time the results weren't much different, except for the fact that she hit the ground head first.

It was frustrating to crash onto the ground after such a fleeting glimpse of the free air, but Ocean didn't mind as much as she might've, preferring to focus on the feeling of flight.

Finally, she managed to stay aloft and gliding for more than ten seconds, feeling the breeze blow over her wings and rejuvenate her spirits. Experimentally, she flapped her wings. A sharp pain ran through her body and made she jolted a little, then tried to recover. But her bad muscle made it impossible to return to level flight, and Ocean flipped head-over-heels mid-flight and crashed straight into a tree with her neck, then tumbled through the branches until she hit the snow with a loud crunch, completely upside down. Needless to say, it wasn't one of her best landings.

Feeling rather embarrassed (and also rather hungry), Ocean returned to her hunting, killing a vole and narrowly missing two rabbits but not much else. She did not see the wolf pack again, nor heard their howling. They had vanished to the other side of the island for reasons she did not yet know.

When exploring began to feel unappetizing Ocean went back to the cliff and practiced gliding for a few more hours until her body was thoroughly sore, and she noted with disappointment that her period of convalescence had severely reduced her wing muscles. The problem was that she was lonely, which was rather ironic. Still, she wished for Stulte, and directed her main efforts towards increasing her flying prowess.

By now it was quite overcast, and a hard wind had sprung up from the north-west, driving the snow over the ground and chilling every beast, dragon or otherwise, who was not in cover, even though it was not actually snowing.

It was at this point that Ocean decided to go for a walk around the lowlands of the island, keeping a good distance between herself and the plains, keeping a large distance between herself and the hidden plains as she went. She would rather not go back there.

Her meanderings took her was the ridge where she had met the first human, which lay east of her cave some ways, and a small way upwards as well. Ocean stepped out of the forest.

It was a giant field of emptiness, where a frozen haze swirled and eddied in the air currents above the three foot deep, dusty snow. When she walked through it she sometimes stepped on a thin crust, about the thickness of an onion, which crunched as she broke through the top layer and plunged into the snow beneath.

A few hundred yards away lay a long stand of cedars and other pines a hundred feet deep, and at their roots grew a formation of hackberry bushes and perennial vines that obscured the land behind them with brambles. The bushes were barren, but the trees rustled and whooshed uproariously. Behind them the land sloped away to the south until it reached a hilly, barren region spotted with groups of deciduous trees, mostly oak and walnut, and the dead remains of the annual vines that spiraled up their trunks.

The snow's surface was covered in waves not unlike those made in the desert where the wind blew over the sand, and tiny, glittering ice particles skittered over it with a minuscule rasping noise similar to that of spilled grain. The cold reached into Ocean's nostrils and she snorted, her breath clouding in rolling clouds that whisked over her face and over her scales until it disappeared in wisps of moisture.

The first snowflakes began to fall from the sky, fluttering through the air before they reached ground and became mixed up in the chaotic mess that was the rasping haze.

The treeline loomed over her head as she neared the first shrubs. Their brambles scratched at her scales and poked her nose, but they were no match for her weight. She pushed through them. The boughs rolled like thunder over her head, but she was safe from the driving wind, for now. Inside the stand it was quieter, and only the tips of the pines were blown by the wind.

The place where she was standing was sheltered from the gusts by the stand, and filled with the smell woody brush and green pine needles. There was no scent of a fire or of charcoal, but then again, that was to be expected.

Here only a light dusting of snow covered the ground, and pinecones aplenty decorated the forest floor, coated in smatterings of white powder in their rough, pungent grooves. Ocean began to walk the length of the small forest she found herself in.

For the first time she saw the detail in these woods. Chickadees flitted through the trees, and wood wrens hopped about in their bushes. A small burrow caught her attention, and she bent down and smelled it. Inside a hibernating chipmunk slept through the winter, curled up in its chamber with two others of its kind. An old tree served as a home for a gray squirrel, and she caught a faint whiff of pine nuts and the tannin smell of acorns. There was an oak tree in this part of the forest then.

When she had been here the last time, she had been too concerned with hunting to worry about these trivial little details, but now she soaked it all in. Eventually she found the campsite.

It was a little affair, hidden behind a copse of brush and concealed by a veil of boughs which puzzled Ocean until she remembered her old encounter and simply nudged through it.

The fire had burnt out long ago, leaving only a few charred sticks and soot lying on top of a rock. A minx's tracks ran past the boundary of the tiny glade, but they were not recent. There was almost no snow, the copse having sheltered the place from the elements since she had last visited. It was smaller then she remembered, and the scent of human was long gone, but it felt familiar to her senses, and she lingered there for a while before the pangs of hunger forced her to the hunt.

This time she did not have to venture far before she found a group of voles, killing two, and a rabbit. She did nab another one with her quills, but it was quickly snatched up by a bobcat before she could get to it. Still, all this had only served as a small meal for her appetite, and she had soon grown hungry again when a deer stumbled into her path. She quickly dispatched it with a few spikes and ate hungrily. It was only the third deer that she had caught since she had crashed on the island, and she devoured the carcass.

By the time she was done there wasn't much left for scavengers. She returned to the old fire and stayed there for a while, perhaps thinking. By the time it was dusk she was already tromping back to her cave.

Night fell, the fourteenth day[1].

* * *

 **Omake. Nayla's revenge.**

"I had nothing to do with this! At all." said the guard, who had just woken up and was pretending not to be sleepy, but failing miserably. He was a Gronckle.

Two guards in the service of the red death were frantically trying to explain to their superiors the vanishing of several tons of stores, along with the appearance of holly and flower wreaths decorating every side passage and hallway in the mountain. They were also frantically trying to explain how cranberry sauce (dragons don't like cranberry sauce), had been stuffed into almost every stolen animal destined for the Queen.

Needless to say, the Queen wasn't very happy about it, and when the Queen wasn't happy, bad things tended to happen to dragons who didn't do something very quickly to remedy the problem.

"Explain." said the major.

"Um. Well.. I uh, I fell asleep at my post sir. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." said the first guard.

"Disappointing. Very disappointing. And what about you, Verily?"

The other guard scratched his head. "I didn't see anything happen either. I went off to lunch break when everything was still normal and came back to… this."

"Then you two will be the first ones to search. Find whoever has done this and bring him to the Queen."

"Sir?"

"That's an order! And would somebody get those lazy interrogators out of their caves! I need everyone working right now! Move it."

From the opening of the secret entrance, Nayla watched and snickered. "Merry Snoggletog. It's too bad they're too grouchy to appreciate the festive spirit." She chuckled and slipped away.

 **[1] Ocean's sense of time is still messed up, and although by this point it's day 14** **for her, the time since she's crashed has actually been 15 for Astrid and co.**


	20. A God-Given Opportunity

**A/N:**

 **Finally! Chapter 20 has arrived, and hopefully with it the 100,000 mark I was talking about last chapter. So I did some research and I figure that if I can get enough writing done every day from Monday to Thursday then I can get this up in a decent amount of time. Let's see if I'm right. I hope you enjoy the chapter and I would greatly appreciate it if you left a review on your way out.**

 **As for the riddles, last chapter's riddle was solved by Dragonrider's Fury, as usual. Here is your oatmeal raisin – how do you even stand those? -, victory cookie.**

 **(::)**

" **What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?"**

 **Made while listening to: Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries, Pumping Adrenaline 1, Through the Fire and Flames, Papa Roach's Born for Greatness, Jim Croce's I Got a Name, and Bob Seger's Night Moves. The Beatles also come to mind.**

 **Guest: Thank you for the nice comments. Although, if you're going to comment on my reviews page you might want to leave a pen-name at least. Do you have an account?**

It was the spinney of brambles that first caught my attention, clustered as they were around a sheltered, rocky place, I did not see them until the thorns were scratching at my arms and I had nearly stumbled into a gorse bush, so absorbed was I in looking for animal sign on the ground. It was a rookie mistake, not that I would ever admit it.

I backed up and looked at the copse. Only a few yards in front of me lay a nigh impenetrable thicket, tall and wide, of thorn bushes and prickly canes of the wild berry kind. In the summer, this would have been a thicket of the best kind, bearing fruit that would keep a band of merry men well supplied for a week. Now the only purpose it would serve would be as an obstacle to me and an enormous shelter for all kinds of small wildlife, including rabbits and snowshoe hares, pangolin and wild turkey, and pronghorn antelope.

Going into the thicket would be a terrible idea, and I dismissed this thought only seconds after its inception. Instead, I decided, I would stake out the area from somewhere off to the side and somewhere downwind, where I felt reasonably sure that something would stick its head out, and then I could get a shot, maybe even a kill.

Checking to make sure that I wasn't upwind of the copse (which I wasn't, I had taken precautions not to be), I started hunting for a good place to wait, staying a good distance from the larger portions of the thicket so as not to alert its inhabitants. Several smaller thickets were sprinkled around the edges of the larger spinney, and I paid more attention to these, because of their size. Eventually I found a good spot under a tree, just within reasonable shooting distance anything that deigned to come more than a few feet from the thicket.

There was less snow under the tree branches than elsewhere, and a small berm and some dead grass gave me concealment while also allowing me to view the copse and everything around it. There were rabbit tracks all over the place, some that looked like the rabbit had been hopping, or loping, and some where they had just been grazing on the old roots underneath the snow. There was an abundance of game here, and I glimpsed many a rabbit while I was scouting the thicket.

The one thing that I didn't like was that there was a fox track running within fifty feet of my blind, and a relatively new one at that. Prey animals tended to take to their burrows whenever they sensed hunters about, and if the fox had taken a rabbit then I would be in for a long wait, because then they wouldn't come back out for more than an hour after the fact, and then my hunting would be pretty much ruined on that side of the thicket, just when I'd found a nice spot. But this was only speculation, and I hunkered down for a long wait.

Presently I heard a turkey scratching the forest floor looking for dead bugs and small animals, and a distant gobble or two, but it sounded like they were relatively far away, and probably roaming around inside the dewberry canes besides. I desperately wanted to break cover and see if I could shoot one, but the noise that would make could be counterproductive, and there was no guarantee that I would actually get one. I stayed still.

The sound of the gobblers faded away, and after a minute or two I was not able to hear their scratching without straining my ears.

A rabbit hopped up to the edge of the brambles and sniffed the air with its whiskered nose, hopped slightly out of the hedge, sniffed again, and scooped away the snow with its huge hind foot. It began to feed. Its coat was a patchwork of brown and white fur, half of it rubbed the wrong way from so much time in the brush.

More joined the first pathfinder, and soon a little herd of rabbits, about seven or eight of them, were grazing contentedly on tufts of brown grass, only just out of my reach. It was frustrating. For an uncountable number of minutes the time slid by as if it was cold molasses. Once or twice I thought a rabbit would break away from his fellows and come within shooting distance, and a few hopped just close enough to the point where I thought I might risk it, and just as I reached for an arrow they would go back to the group.

All around the thicket, a steady trickle of bucks and does were filling their bellies just outside of the brambles. It was at this point that I realized that just waiting in one place and waiting for my game to come to me wasn't going to cut it. I secured my bow to my belt – slowly - and slid under the lip of the berm, keeping my head down as much as I could so as not to be seen.

The terrain here acted to my advantage, as the small rise in the ground gave me good concealment. The incline was small, but noticeable, and in just a few moments I had made it into a small depression in the snow, where I took a small rest to warm my hands and lay up for a bit. Then I pulled myself along on my elbows in the general direction of what I thought was the rabbit herd.

It was here that the brush thinned, and I took a peek above the snow. I was about twenty-five feet away from the thicket, and twenty feet from the rabbits, and that was still too far. One of the rabbits raised its head, and I ducked my head beneath the snow and began crawling again, keeping as low as possible until I had come another four or five feet. Now the dip in the ground leveled out, and I could go no further.

I unclipped my bow from my belt and reached for an arrow, tugged on it. It stuck on my belt. I tugged on it a little harder and then it came out, and I strung it to my bow before remembering that the string was cold. I rubbed the bowstring with the palm of my hand until it was warm, and when I plucked it like an instrument it resonated well. Then I strung the arrow again, tested to make sure the notch in the shaft fit like it should. It did, almost perfectly.

I turned onto my side, slowly, to give myself more height, saw the head of a rabbit and then brought up my bow, pushing with my feet to give me just a little bit better of an angle.

The rabbits still hadn't noticed me when I pulled back the string, didn't notice me when the string was almost up to my cheek. Only one of them saw me, but I had fired before he had time to stamp.

One of the bucks had his head up and was looking around, and it was this one I targeted. It was a bad shot. The arrow whistled through the air, but too much to the right. It flew past the buck, and embedded itself in one of the does' guts. I winced. It wasn't pretty. The rest of the rabbits froze for a fraction of a second, then fled towards the safety of the thicket together in a rush, only one pausing to stamp out the danger signal as fast as he could before also dashing to safety.

All around the copse, the same scene was repeating itself in the other rabbits, and even the other small animals, the squirrels and the birds alike sounding warnings before jumping for cover.

I pushed myself up and jogged over to get the rabbit. It was still writhing around on the grass squealing, although its thrashings were getting weaker and weaker, and its squeals and more piteous. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the poor thing. Gut-shooting an animal is always terrible, because it doesn't always die quickly, and even when they do, they're a mess to clean up. Sometimes a deer will run off after being shot in the stomach only to be found dead a week later, or a turkey will get shot and fly away, only to be picked off by a predator because it can't escape.

I picked up the rabbit and twisted its neck. It went limp and stopped struggling, dead. It was sad, but I'd done what I had to do, and I didn't regret it, though getting the kill didn't seem like so much of a victory any more.

There was no need to dress my catch, except to let the blood pour out while the carcass was still warm; I made two slashes where I knew the arteries were and hung the rabbit by its legs while I drained the thing and shook it out, then found some clean snow and wiped all the blood off of its fur before it could stain; I also removed the arrow from where it had sliced open the stomach and one of the intestines, thankfully the small one.

Well, there was nothing to do now but find another place to hunt. All the noise and blood would certainly attract predators to the scene like flies to rotten meat. There was no chance of the rabbits emerging from the thicket before tomorrow, much less in the next hour.

I affixed my catch to a catch-loop in my hunting dress by its pelt and wiped off my arrow, though some of the blood still clotted onto the fletchings, then headed north, against the wind.

The land here was rockier than what I had seen before, and often I found myself stubbing my toes on invisible stones that had been covered by snowfall. I passed many trees, new kinds like larkspur and rhondon, but also some that I knew, like spruces and firs. The ground rolled up and down like waves of sand on a beach, but I got the feeling that I was walking more down than up.

A few snowflakes blew past my face on the wind, and more were coming. It started to snow.

I passed a small, snow covered, boulder lying on top of a slab of stone that almost looked like it had been pushed up out of the earth, and I began to step on gravel beds that took the place of the forest floor, and scrawny dwarf firs took place of the big trees. There would not be much game here, I thought, and I was about to turn back when I crested the peak of a hill and saw a great ocean of white ahead of me, and cliffs to my sides.

In a little over a mile's travel from camp I had reached the frozen coasts of Sword Island. There was no crashing of waves against the beach, no cries of seagulls as they dived for fish. The ocean was completely iced over as far as the eye could see, and a gray mist rose up over it so that it looked like I was standing above a great cloud, almost as if I was on top of the sky looking down at the top of the world.

I admired the view for a little while, then turned and walked back to the woods. I shot a snowshoe hare on my way home, and missed an arrow on another because I was in a hurry. More snow was beginning to fall, and I wanted to be at camp before the real storm hit.

I went fast, not stopping except to harvest some frozen mushrooms from the base of a tree that I was fairly sure happened to be edible.

"Hello." I said to myself, and stopped.

A track, freshly made, was pressed into the snow in front of me. A large animal with a cloven hoof had come this way. A pronghorn antelope. Getting one would solve our meat problems for quite a while, and the temptation was strong. Besides, it was snowing. It could be a long time before I found the trail of animal this size again. Would I take the chance? My legs itched to follow the tracks.

I held up my hand in front of my face, palm towards me, and lined the smallest finger of my hand up with what I judged was the horizon, then put my other hand on top of it the same way. My thumb overshot the sun by an entire finger, which meant there were less than two hours of daylight left, and I didn't have a lamp nor a torch. Chasing after an antelope when I had no guarantee of a good shot and not much time before sunset would be a bad idea, especially when I already had a rabbit and a hare. A bird in the bag was worth three in the bush, as the old saying went.

So I didn't go after the antelope after all, and I didn't get as much meat as I would have liked. And who knew how long this storm might last? We could easily starve if we were weather-bound down here just because I hadn't got enough food. I tried not to think about that.

After a few more minutes I arrived at the clearing where we had set up our camp, and just in time too. The snow began to fall in droves, and I'm sure that I would've gotten lost had I spent more time on the trail. A fire flickered cheerfully, casting a warm glow over the tent and making hissing sounds whenever a snowflake drifted into the flames. Hiccup must have moved it during the time that I'd been hunting, probably for convenience and probably to keep us from freezing to death. And he'd somehow found enough time to bring over the old firepit too, which was a nice bonus, although why there was mud all over the stones over the usual soot.

The roof of the shelter was finished and the eaves were done up nicely. I was happy to see that done, though the inside walls would probably need a good caulking up to keep the water from seeping in. I leaned my bow against the entrance and peeked in.

A brown haired boy sat in the middle of the dirt floor, stuffing a piece of clay into what looked like a chink in the wooden lattice that made the walls. He noticed me only a few seconds after I saw him.

"Hi Astrid. It's good to see you back." he said. "What with all the snow coming down I was starting to get a little worried. Did you catch anything?"

I told him I had caught a rabbit and a snowshoe hare in the hugest thicket I'd ever seen, and that I'd found the tracks of a small antelope, probably pronghorn, and that there might be a herd that was wintering around here, but I hadn't seen any of their markings. I had also found some mushrooms that I thought were edible, but I wasn't sure. Hiccup remained thoughtful throughout all of it until I was done, without making a single interruption.

"Well, that's alright," he said, when I was done recounting my tale. "All's well that ends well, and its a mighty good thing that you made it home when you did. Fifteen more minutes and you might never have found the clearing. But the meat problem can't be helped, and I didn't catch anything either, only made snares and built a few other things."

"Snares?" I asked.

"Yep. Snares. I made a few back at the old camp, but I didn't get to set them before we were forcibly evicted by wolf pack. But this afternoon I set a trap-line on the stream, five traps, and all in the best places, or so I thought. I'll be darned if I'm not going to make a few more and put them on that oversized bramble bush of yours, but right now I'm in need of a little help."

"Help caulking the ceiling?"

"Nope. I can do that just fine, but my toes are about freezing right now. Could you give me a hand and get some kind of bedding for this place? It's no use making a shelter to keep in the heat if it's all going to get sucked out the floor." He wiggled his feet for emphasis. "I guess I didn't have enough time to make a proper mattress."

"I'll see what I can do. Its snowing real hard out there." I said, and turned to leave.

"Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you threw some wood on the fire, it's been burning down while I've been in here, and I don't want it blowing out."

I shook my head as I left the tent and reached for a pile of firewood. Unfortunately, while Hiccup had had the bright idea of transporting the fire closer to our place of habitation, he had forgotten to bring the firewood along with it. Brilliant. And naturally, I was the one who had to go get it. A smart one, that kid, but I think he needs to improve his short-term memory when he's working.

Moving the firewood wasn't much better than normal grunt work, and I was happy when I was done with the job. I'd had to make several trips just to get every last scrap. I tossed an armful of wood onto the fire and then I was done.

The business of finding floor material was more difficult by far, to say the least. For one thing, it was winter, and simply gathering large amounts of leaf litter and simply using that was out of the question, because it would all be frozen stiff. The second option, as far as I knew, was to use low-hanging pine boughs and branches to keep the cold away, which was a more viable option, one that would require me to go trek in the woods again, because of a small fact.

We weren't in a pine forest anymore, or even a mixed one. We had passed through that a long time ago, on our journey south-east that had taken us away from the dragon's lair. I sighed. I really did not want to be out in that weather, much less that far away from camp. Besides, it was practically snowing elk by now. I could already see the new snow filling up my footprints from just a few minutes ago, and it had turned dark in a matter of minutes.

I decided that it just wasn't worth the risk. I went back to the shelter.

"Have you gotten back already?" Hiccup said, looking up at me as I ducked into the entrance. "Oh." he said, when he saw the snow coming down in sheets behind me. "It looks like it's snowing yaks and dogs out there. Here, I'll bring in an ember to see if that warms you up."

He bustled out the doorway, which wasn't really a doorway because it had no door, and came back balancing a glowing piece of wood on two sticks. He nearly burned himself trying to set it at my feet but ended up managing not to, and then went back outside. Probably to get more firewood, I thought.

And that would be a welcome thing too, because the now that all the caked snow that I had accumulated during the hunt was starting to melt, was soaking my clothes and sucking out all my body heat. My teeth chattered from the cold, and I wished I had a towel to dry myself off with, like we had had at Berk, before I'd washed up on this damn island.

Then Hiccup was there again, and he was brushing me off with his jacket, wiping all the snow away from my clothes. Then he went to the door and wrung out the coat, before bringing my bow inside, which I had forgotten.

I sneezed, then rubbed my nose and sniffed. My sinuses felt congested with water, and the warm coal at my feet seemed more comforting than ever. At least until I sneezed, again.

"Are you alright?" asked Hiccup. He hurried over.

"It's fine. It's only congestion." I said. "Noting.. Nothing to worry about." But I sounded terrible. What "I would give for a towel right now. Stupid wolves." I sneezed again.

Hiccup looked worried. Worried and also clueless. I could tell that he'd never had to take care of a sick person before, not that I was sick, of course, just suffering a minor case of cold weather and water in my nose.

Nonetheless, he checked my head for a fever, and finding none, told me to rest while he cooked up something and put on some firewood. I asked him what he planned to make exactly. He shrugged.

"Rabbit meat with hare tongue, I guess."

"Roasted?" I asked. My mother was a great cook, but she didn't do tongues very well. Especially roasted.

"Maybe. I don't know yet." He shrugged again.

It was at that moment that I wished we had brought along a nice pot. Not for the last time. Now was not the time to be doubting Hiccup's cooking. My face must have been tied up into a double knot, because he caught sight of it and chuckled.

"Worried that I'll mess up the food?" he teased.

"You can never be too careful."

"Aw, don't worry about me. I'll whip up something good, and you can count on it."

Don't worry. I punched him anyway.

"Ow! What was that for!" Hiccup nearly banged his head on the low ceiling because he'd straightened up too fast, but checked himself at the last second.

I grinned at him. Hiccup simply walked away, muttering under his breath. "Girls. I don't think I'm ever going to understand them." and that was fine with me.

Half an hour passed. Hiccup had a great idea for the roast he was making, until he realized that he didn't have any spices. He twisted, turned, and finagled so much with the fire and the roast that I couldn't help but try and find what he was doing.

Alas, he was already done, and he passed me the meat on a stick, still piping hot. I blew on it until I judged the meat wouldn't burn my tongue, then popped it into my mouth.

It was cooked alright, a little burned and oily, but it was meat. It had a rich taste, almost like hog' cracklings, but different. I ate it one bite at a time until it was gone, then looked to see if there was more. I was still hungry. There wasn't any more, not cooked at least, but I cut up another piece of the hare and hung that over the fire until it was done, which was good too, but not as good as a soup.

Once we were done with our supper, Hiccup and I tried to get some rest, although the floor was cold, colder than I'd expected. Cold enough to make tiny beads of glittering dew form in the small uneven crevices in the dirt and to extinguish the ember smoldering away in the corner of the shelter, though I didn't notice it at the time. Since we had used what passed for blankets around here on the roof of the shelter, I was freezing. But if there's one thing we vikings pride ourselves on, it's our endurance. I could handle this.

It took me what felt like an entire night-time of quiet tossing and turning to rid me of that confident, but uninitiated idea, even after I put my coat on.

"Still awake?" asked Hiccup.

"Yep." I said, not even bothering to hide it. "When you said these bare floors suck the heat out of you, you weren't joking."

"Just another thing that we need to fix, along with oilskins – how on earth we managed to survive without any, I have no idea. Pots, meat storage, firewood, weaponry, I think the list goes on forever. I even found the time to build a smoker for all the fish I was catching back at our old camp. I made a cauldron, I think, and a few bowls, but those were a little chipped. Am I remembering this right?" he asked.

I nodded.

"When Boulder Rock seems like the good old days, I think there's something seriously wrong with the world."

"I wonder if there's anything left over there. We certainly haven't been there to maintain it in quite a while." I pointed out. "But there might be something useful still laying around, if we can find it."

"Astrid, you're a brick. That's a great idea!" he exclaimed, and put his hand under his chin.

I was momentarily confused. "Why are you calling me a brick?"

"Never mind. Look, the point is that I never thought about actually going back to our old camp and getting our stuff back. We must have tons of equipment back there that we couldn't bring with us when we left. Pottery equipment, rakes, herbs and stuff like that. Oh, and snowshoes. If the mice haven't gotten in and spoiled it yet, there might even be some frozen raspberries left. And a whole bunch of things that we probably had but I forgot about. Including the tools I made for arrow calibration. I think that would've solved your inaccuracy problem back at the thicket, and who knows what – Ow! What was that for!"

"You were rambling again, so I nicked you." I said. "All this is very well and good, but it's no use if we can't actually get there and back without being slaughtered by wolves or dying because we ran out of food. And we don't actually know where the Rock is, remember? We fled in a random direction, trying to find a random place of shelter, and now that we've escaped we have no way to tell exactly where we are except to climb the old hill and see what we can see, again. And that will take time to find too. Unless we have a plan, and a good one, this whole endeavor is way too risky."

"Well, in my defense it seems like a perfectly nice plan, once you leave out the part about being slaughtered by wolves and dying of starvation because we don't have enough food."

"It's a big possibility. There are too many what ifs for my confidence. What if our old camp is in the wolf pack's territory, and we invaded it by accident, for example. Or what if someone slips halfway through the trip and we have to wait five days just to heal a broken bone? Those scenarios are all very possible. There's too many things that we just don't know. It's too risky. Maybe we could try it after we're established here, but that would mean the both of us abandoning our new camp. There is absolutely no way that we're doing this alone. Like I said, it's too risky."

"Alright alright." Hiccup held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Since you're not going to give me any ground on this one, I call for a truce. Just let me think about it, alright? And then I'll be able to come up with a good plan. Deal?"

I thought about it for a second. "Deal. Maybe now we'll actually be able to go to sleep, since all this talking has warmed up the tent."

Hiccup grinned. "Sure. Say, I have one last question."

"Sure. Fire away."

"Since we've just gotten into the spirit of naming things, I have a proposal."

"Like what?"

"This camp should be officially named Camp Clearing. And the dragon that didn't kill us should be referred to as That One Weird Reptile."

"I think you're sleepy." I said. "But those names sound fine to me."

"Yep. And I'm going to be the one who carves the camp name into the bark." I had no idea what he was talking about.

Eventually I did manage to fall asleep, after a considerably less amount of tossing and turning. The last thing I noticed before I fell asleep was that my nose wasn't congested anymore.

I slept fitfully, uneasy dreams plaguing my unconsciousness. I dreamed that I was back at Berk, and the people were overjoyed to see me home, at least until they turned into wolves and chased me all over the island before I jumped back into the boat in which I'd returned and rowed away as fast as I could. I had several more dreams like this, every one beginning with someone I knew and ending with someone I didn't.

Sometimes I killed them and sometimes I was the one killed, by one legged men who could hop as fast as a crow could fly, and even a giant mosquito (I killed that thing, it was a monster. Who knew what such a nefarious bloodsucker could've done to the world if I hadn't ended its life). I became a beast-hunter, traveling around the world and charging enormous fees for my services, until I myself was slain.

When I woke up it was about time for breakfast, or rather, for me to make breakfast. Hiccup was already awake, enjoying his last moments of bedtime before inevitably having to get up and work for the rest of the day. I sat up, yawned precariously and stretched out my arms, nodding my head to work out all the knots in my neck and spine, and sighed in satisfaction when I cracked my knuckles. It was time to start the day.

The sky was a lovely blue, and far off to the east I could see color patches blooming out under the clouds. The sun had not emerged from his bed yet, and was just now beginning his ascent into the heavens. I stopped to watch because this would only happen once today. Once jolly Mr. Sun got above the clouds then it would become only yet another cloudy day. The morning air was crisp and clear, and smelled like charcoal. I watched the sunrise for a few minutes more, and then turned to more physical matters.

The fire was still smoldering, having burned down to coals during the night, the topmost charcoal wetted by melted snow. It was still snowing, but the downpour of last night had turned into a soft flow of tiny snowflakes, many of which floated about the air like tiny wisps in a gentle cascade.

I stoked the fire and added some firewood, grimly noticing that our supply was diminishing quickly. Soon someone would have to go and collect more. What I really would've liked to have was an entire tree, but we didn't have an ax, and I wasn't about to go suggest the idea to Hiccup because he'd probably try to use a fire to burn away the trunk and nearly end up creating a forest inferno from which we'd barely escape alive. Perhaps a stone ax might work. With a flint edge perhaps. I made a note of this.

Collecting firewood was always a boring job, and grueling as well, when the weather conditions were bad. Back at Boulder, this wouldn't have been so bad because we'd had snowshoes. Now that the snow was three feet deep in places, and never under two, it was a struggle even to walk around the clearing. The cobbling of some good snowshoes would need to be a first priority, but then again, everything else was too. Food was a priority, and so was collecting pine boughs for the floor so it wouldn't be so cold again once night came and we had to go to sleep. Everything around here was a priority.

There were no candles and no lamps, or any other sources of light which would allow us to be productive after the sun set and there was no natural illumination to work with. Now we had nothing but luck and our wits, although that wasn't exactly true either.

I blew on the fire absentmindedly with a practiced motion, just enough to introduce air to the pile without flushing out any of the hot coals. The flames crackled happily, and I tossed in a few more sticks which blackened from the heat, then began to burn.

"Good morning Astrid." said Hiccup. "It looks like we're running out of firewood out here. Mind if I borrow your knife?"

"No. Here." I pulled out my hunting knife and presented it to him, handle first. He took it firmly with one hand and put it on his belt.

"Now that's a good change. I was scared to death when you chucked that thing at me the first time. Remember?" I shook my head.

"I don't see why you wouldn't. Anyway, I asked for your knife and you tossed it at me pointy end first. I did catch it, but I ended up face flat in the dirt. It was pretty embarrassing. So it's nice to actually have you hand it to me nicely."

"Were you alright?"

"Yeah. I ended up fine. Mostly. Those old days were just embarrassing. And we were so inexperienced back then, we had no idea what to expect. Well, I'm off to get some firewood and set a few snares. Hopefully there'll be a few fish in the streams too, so I might be able to nab one, but it's a pretty slim chance. It's a shame the ocean's already iced over."

"What about breakfast?" I asked him.

"I'll be back in time for it, don't you worry."

He started to walk away, whistling a common household tune.

"How many loads of firewood are you going to bring?" I yelled after him.

"Enough." he yelled back. Boys.

Now I had stoked the fire, I prepared some meat and a few mushrooms that I had had the fortune of finding during yesterday's hunt, bruising their caps after I had thawed them to bring out a better flavor. I wrapped them around the meat like a sandwich [1], then ate it. Hopefully the 'shrooms were edible. Hiccup had told me they were, and I didn't have any occasion to doubt him. I hesitated a little, then shrugged and popped the whole thing into my mouth.

It was just another meal, another animal killed so that I could stay in the lucrative business of being alive. I didn't let it bother me much, just chewed and ate it. When I was done I stoked the fire once more with a long stick that I was using as a poker for the moment, then decided to see if I could do anything about the snowshoe problem.

To cobble a good snowshoe is extremely delicate work, which is something I've never been particularly good at, unless it happens to involve dressing animals. So I wasn't actually going to make one, just take a look at the problem. Of course, there were other, more impromptu methods, but good snowshoes were hard to produce and harder to maintain.

I took a look at what we had, and frankly, it wasn't much. There was the skins from my hunting trip, of course, and from the sow, but what we really needed was bracers, quite a few of them. Or we could just throw together a few hemlock branches, stick them on our feet, and call that a snowshoe, but those rigs usually didn't last more than a week, a minor inconvenience that could be much more annoying in the wild. At least they were cheap.

Hiccup was back, bearing an armload of firewood from a dead black birch tree that he had found fallen across the stream bed and cut into three poles, which had taken a bit of work. Had he dulled my knife working on a tree, I asked. He said that he hadn't, but I saw him busy sharpening the blade several minutes later. He obviously wasn't taking any chances with my forgiveness. When I saw him finish I came around the corner as if I hadn't noticed what he was doing and asked him whether or not he was going to get started on the snares.

"I was about to do just that." he said. "Could you set a few up, out of the first ones that I make, by that thicket you were telling me about? I can make more if I don't have to carry them all by myself. Besides, it'll give you something to do other than gather firewood."

"Why not." I said.

In truth, I was rather grateful for the opportunity. Almost everyone I know doesn't like cutting firewood. The ones who do are viewed as weird people who are often quite kooky in the head. That's not true, of course, but it's a running joke everywhere. Unfortunately, it still takes time to whittle snares. So I was still stuck gathering firewood, at least for until Hiccup was done.

I had made several trips around the glade for easy materials when the first snare was finished. It was a small, gangly thing, a ground snare that would give a rabbit warren nightmares. Hiccup showed me how to set it, then began work on a second one. I toyed with it for a while, trying to figure out how exactly I was supposed to carry the thing. I wished for a pouch, but I knew the animal skins used to make that would be enough for a pair of snowshoes, a much more essential tool. Any resource we had was precious.

I caught myself dawdling around again and promptly walked myself into the forest, where I began to look for yet more firewood. Like I've said before, it's the most boring job in the world, and I set my body to autopilot as my brain wandered off yet again.

The morning passed more quickly after that, with Hiccup only pausing with his work to gulp down a quick breakfast (our food stores were looking dangerously low again), before going back to his work, at least from what I'd seen of him. And as for me? I spent almost an hour collecting more pine boughs and layering them neatly on the floor of our shelter as a protection against the cold, bare ground, which was less boring than the alternative at least, but still rather tedious.

I was just about done when the snares were finished. Like I've said before, they were small, hooked pegs driven into the ground, or snow, latched on to another hooked peg, which was attached to a springy branch on a hinge[2]. They were about three feet in length and used some of the climbing vines, both dead and alive, that we'd found climbing around the local maple trees. Hiccup used the alive for the catch-loop and reserved the dead ones for later, just in case we might need them for an emergency.

Unfortunately, by the time Hiccup was done he'd only been able to whittle four of them. The rest of the pins had broken when he'd applied too much pressure to their weak points, either snapping in half or splintering along the wood grain, both of which conditions were terminally useless. He threw those into the fire.

I took two and he took two, and we prepared our gear to split ways, Hiccup to run his trap-line first and then come to the thicket, and myself, heading straight for the spinney of brambles to set a few snares around the area because it was a potential hot-spot. I asked him whether or not he was going to pull any snares from his trap-line to use around the new warren.

"I'll have to see the place before I can make any decisions, but if it's as big as you say it is, maybe I will. I'm wary about moving anything just because it takes wild animals time to accustom themselves to new things. If I'm constantly going in and out and stomping around the traps I'm never going to catch anything. It just takes a little time. Maybe tomorrow if I haven't caught anything in one of 'em I will move something. And we're almost as likely to catch a fox as a rabbit, or a deer might absolutely wreck the snare."

"Foxes make good scarves." I pointed out.

Hiccup chuckled. "They sure do. I could certainly use a scarf right now. I'm afraid this winter jacket isn't exactly going to cut it for very much longer. My pocket has a tiny hole in it, actually. It isn't very big, but my clothes are definitely losing their integrity. I'm going to have to make a patch for it pretty soon, bone needles or no bone needles. Gods there's so much we still have to make."

"Well, it can't be helped. It's the pangs of starting over from scratch."

"Yep. Not exactly, but about as close to scratch as you can possibly get without actually being there, at least in my mind."

"Alright. I'll see you at the thicket." I said. We smiled and I trotted off, heading south along the stream until I reached the place where I'd split off the day before in search of new territory to cover, then traveled east and found the gully I had walked in earlier, plunged in, and followed where it led. The terrain wound and twisted, ever going to the right side and running ever more south, before at last it found it's final resting place in a dead end. I hopped out and began to canvass the surrounding territory.

I found the spinney easily, and as I had suspected, there were no rabbits or even signs of rabbits, just a smeared blood stain where a predator had caught something. The storm had covered every track in the woods, and there weren't any new ones. While I certainly would've liked to get another shot, hopefully better than the one yesterday, this was a perfect place for snares. I set one around an opening in the brush that looked particularly promising on the west side, then looked for a place in the east.

It was a snag of dead wood that caught my attention, and I set my last trap under a hollow log where the signs of past rabbit activity were present, though there were no actual tracks.

The sky was nearly dark by the time I ended my hunting and tramped home; several pieces of antelope steak, or what was left of it, slung over my side. A bobcat had killed the pronghorn I'd been tracking and I'd shooed it off when I got to the carcass. The animal's stomach was completely ravaged, and one of its hind legs had been torn completely off of the body, but there was still good meat left, and I took as much as I could glean, which was almost as much as I could carry.

This was a stroke of good luck, no doubt, and I thanked the Gods for that most fortunate encounter; though I did not have any incense or altar, I hoped a simple prayer would suffice to preserve their good favor. When, and not if, I encountered a holy tree in the woods, I would certainly make an offering.

The fresh meat helped to ease our hunger, and the next three days slid by considerably faster than the ones preceding them. The situation seemed less dire, and for a while it seemed that possibly, just possibly, things might return to something at least resembling normalcy, at least what normalcy could be achieved since we'd been stranded on the island.

But it was not to be.

 **[1] Vikings have sandwiches, why are you surprised by this? Or maybe you aren't, and this note is just an annoyance. Please tell me your thoughts on the subject in the review section!**

 **[2] See springtail peg snare.**


	21. Across the Seas and Ocean

**A/N:**

 **Hey guys, another quick update here. If anyone asks me about my schedule, I think it should be known that I basically don't have one at this point. I write when I have time; which isn't enough, especially since I get distracted so easily.**

 **Congratulations to Dragonrider's Fury for solving last chapter's riddle. I'm beginning to think he enjoys this.**

 **Have an oatmeal raisin cookie and an obligatory blegh. If anyone else has been following this story so far they'll know I hate oatmeal raisin anything. We all have our own preferences, pet peeves and quiet hates. One of mine happens to be oatmeal raisin anything, or even raisin bran cereal. I don't even like _raisins_ for crying out loud. **

**(::)**

 **And here's the riddle. What starts with 'e', ends with 'e', and contains one letter?**

 **Made while listening to various tracks, all of which I've told you about before. Is this getting old? Well, maybe there's a new one. The old animated Tarzan soundtracks by Phil Collins.**

 **If you haven't seen my newer stories I would definitely recommend that you check them out, especially Greenhorn and Trust is Earned Revamp, both of which I have spent more time on than I'd like to admit.**

* * *

Ocean kicked a fallen bough in frustration. It split in half, the pieces tumbling down a nearby ravine and shattering into large splinters at the bottom. She glared at it and snorted.

It wasn't hunger that was bothering her, nor her injuries, which were healing quite well, but it was a different matter that irritated her with an itch that she couldn't reach or scratch because it was inside her.

What was that itch, you may ask? Stulte. The reckless but handsome dragon who had entered her life at the least expected time when she needed him most, who had helped her escape when she faltered and who had shepherded her through the storm almost to the end. If it had not been for a simple gust and a singular act of bad luck she would've made it through; perhaps in another life she was soaring the air currents now. But that was not now, and she was stuck here.

Well, not exactly stuck. A week ago she had flown by using a tall rock face as a jumping point, but her wings were still tender from the accident, not to mention her muscles had become weak from lack of practice. Besides, leaping off of a cliff in the hopes that you were strong enough to glide down safely and not go _splat_ on impact didn't sit well with her.

Ground takeoffs were out of her league for the moment, let alone flying the frigid sea just to look for one dragon, which was what she would need to do if she wanted to find Stulte, assuming he was still around in the first place. For all she knew he could grounded on an island just like she was, or worse, dead.

Obviously he didn't know where she was, or he would have come for her by now, no question about it. He couldn't have abandoned her, could he?

Ocean shook her head to clear away the treacherous thoughts. She had been alone for too long, that was it. She needed real company, not just those prey that managed to survive in this cold place. Pack animals didn't count.

Those two-leg humans were certainly interesting, but they ran away after a snowstorm and never came back. They must have been running from the wolves, Ocean thought, and she wished them luck. That didn't mean she hadn't been disappointed when she'd come back to the cave after a hunt and discovered that they were gone.

Her search for the fascinating little animals was cut short by the deep snow that concealed their tracks and swallowed up their scent. It was more than annoying, but the weather had spoken, and she did not find them that day, nor the next, or the one after that.

So she was alone, or nearly alone.

Ocean gave the forest a last parting gaze and trudged off, not caring in the least which direction she was going or where she ended up so long as her body stayed in motion.

The trees were still blasted with ice crystals, like an extra layer of bark they jutted out on the windward side of the woody trunks like white frosting that cracked and fell of whenever she brushed them with a wing. The temperature had remained below freezing for the last several weeks except for a warm spell five days ago, and that had been short-lived. Winter was here to stay.

A heavy crust lay over all the snow; not thick enough to support a dragon but sturdier than usual, enough to support deer and antelopes, whereas Ocean broke through the icy layer whenever she set foot upon it and had to pull herself out with every step.

The lack of flight told heavily on her. It is said that dragons cannot live too long without flight or they will go mad, just as pack rats will die without treasure or a human will waste away without the company of his own kind. For dragons, flight is a basic necessity, and this was already happening to Ocean, albeit only in the first stages. But she was hardier than she looked, and a refreshing glide can do wonders for a stressed wyvern.

A quarter of an hour passed, and Ocean began to blow off steam. Still, if Stulte was alive, she wondered what he was doing right now. He was probably holed up in some comfortable den somewhere, sitting out the winter smugly while she fought the elements.

* * *

 **The Present: Somewhere off the Irish shore.**

A biting gust blew over Stulte's body and tiny grains of ice skittered over his blue scales as he rode the wind, caught in the sweeping air currents of the coming winter blizzard that billowed over the horizon from the west.

His nostrils were half-way frozen and his wings felt like ice sheets. He was hungry, exhausted, and more than frustrated.

For weeks on end he had searched for Ocean over the northern seas, only stopping to eat and sleep on tiny islets and sea stacks far from home. When he could not find land he would fly through the night looking for her. Every day his hope diminished, even as the maps he drew grew ever larger. Surely if she was alive he would've found her by now.

He could not know that she had survived the descent but had snapped her wing on the way down. That was why he had not seen her nor any trace of her. He also could not know that his search had been too far to the north by nearly twenty miles, his instinctual sense of direction dulled by the storm.

He met several dragons as he went, outlaws all of them, but never a raiding party on official business. A lone dragon flying in the late fall and winter without a good alibi, that would raise questions, questions that he could not answer.

Winter came, and still he watched for her when he could, and that was less and less often. He had become thin and wiry, his muscles hardened from a month of bad flying and little food. Then the sea froze, and with the open water went the haddock and the cod which he had eaten. Although dragons knew much about the world, they didn't know how to fish on the open ice.

Most dragons went into week-long stupors during the winter to save effort, some even hibernated. That was for a very good reason. It was a dumb idea to fly so much this late in the year, especially up north, but Stulte didn't have any other options.

He could not go back to the archipelago for fear of Her, but he had heard tales of the great lands of the east, huge continents larger than a thousand islands and inhabited by hostile humans. It was impossible for an army of any real size to prosper there, but a dragon on his own might make it. Stulte decided to take his chances with the unknown rather than go back to the queen.

That had been four – no, five days ago, and the Irish coast was in sight, forty miles away by his estimate **[1]**. He could reach it by midday if he pushed himself.

He needed to conserve his energy, but still the sight of land put new strength into his bones and he increased his pace.

It was afternoon when Stulte reached the craggy cliffs and stony beaches of Ireland. The country is not as mountainous as Wales, nor is it like the rolling, idyllic hills of Britain itself – No, Ireland is something all to its own.

Here the air was less cold and the wind was reduced by degrees as he wheeled past footpeaks and high, snowy meadows twinkling in the sunlight. Tall arches decorated the shore as he flew past broad rises, and there were dozens of small caves scattered about the waterline.

The sea ice could not stand the rocky headlands and it had come apart wherever it met stone. Heavy breakers rolled over gravel spits and fell back with a loud crash that threw gleaming droplets into the air.

It was a wonderful sight – for a dragon on vacation. He wasn't interested in the view, although it was good to be over solid ground. He needed food.

Stulte banked and traded speed for altitude. Nadders had sharp noses, and he put his sense of smell to work, sniffing for deer or antelope, or, even better, elk.

For a while he flew on, his energy almost spent, the adrenaline wearing off from his transit over the coast. Trees grew, and wide meadows gave way to bright glades through which ran sparkling streams not yet frozen. A shadow passed over him and was gone. Still the blizzard loomed in the west.

There! A swift breeze brought him the musk of a bull moose and then whisked itself away, teasing his nostrils. He hovered for half a moment, hoping to catch the elusive scent, then swooped down. Again! A gust passed him and he knew where it was hiding.

A large pond was pooled in the berm of two hills, partially unfrozen. Around its rim stood a mix of beech trees, poplar and willow, and the outer edges of the water itself were choked by frozen reeds and stands of tall cattails. Brown duckweed clung to the edges of the ice.

He had not been a hunter back home, but all dragons have instinct. The overgrown elk was probably grazing the cattails, where it was more easily hidden, which was why he could not see it at first. Most animals that large do not fear much, and from this he reasoned that there must be competition here, either from humans or his own kin.

With three strokes of his wings Stulte was gliding toward the pond, flapping ever so often to keep afloat. It was the antlers of the moose he saw first, huge, dirty white racks with razor-like points. It was not the rutting season but only a month afterward, and bull moose as a whole were not to be trifled with, especially for a dragon in his state of health.

He pulled up and spread his wings, quieting them so that his prey would not see his approach until it was too late, then swung around, flying behind the animal. He couldn't risk being impaled by those antlers, even if he used the spines that every Nadder has.

The moose looked up and scanned the sky. Stulte's heart shot into his mouth and he went stock-still, hoping that it wouldn't notice him. It didn't, not yet, at least, and he turned so that he would speed down and pass it on the left by about ten yards. It was a good flyby, and at first everything went as planned.

From a hundred yards away it would take him fifteen seconds to get in range with his quills. A large animal like that might need a score of them to finish off.

He dove. Sixty yards, fifty, forty. At the last moment the moose saw him, reared up and plunged through the ice towards the right bank. Too late. He lashed his tail and six spines leaped towards their target. Only three of them hit, two driving themselves into its chest and one lodging in its leg until it had almost disappeared. Damn. There had been days when he had shot rabbits through their heads from nearly a hundred feet distant. He was getting rusty.

The moose stumbled, but it did not fall, and it pulled itself out of the water as he raced past, sending another volley of spikes flying into its flanks, the reeds blown by his wake.

He pulled up just in time to skim over a steep knoll and turned back for another pass as the moose loped for the brush and the woods almost before Stulte could loose his quills. Almost, but not quite. He was thoroughly excited now, and his aim was worse than before. A flurry of teal spikes arced into the snow, throwing up puffs of white powder as they punched into the crust, and there was a spatter of blood in the wake of a spine that had winged the animal.

Compared to other dragon venoms, Nadder poison worked slowly, and it would be some time before the bull was injured enough for him to attack it on the ground. There was no chance of him losing the scent; already the smell of the wound was strong in his nostrils.

The trees were bare, and even if he could not have seen his prey he would've hear the low roar of its powerful throat. Frightened by its hurt and confused by his sudden appearance it had no choice but to flee as he came about and whipped his tail again, sending five blurs after the brown shape limping in the brush.

It roared. Hurt, wounded in the leg and with stinging, toxic poison running through its veins, it could not survive longer than half an hour before choking and rampant blood loss claimed it, even without him mercy killing the poor thing.

Stulte waited until he could no longer hear its keening growls and circled down to the forest floor, smashing boughs and cracking tree limbs as he went. A red trail zig-zagged through the woods, smeared onto willow bark and dead poplar leaves by matted fur and cloven hoof.

Surely it was dying by now, if not dead. He stepped into a shadowed covey and saw the moose. It had fallen on its side and was feebly dragging itself along. It gurgled, then fell silent, its head dropping to the snow. One last, rasping breath – a red bubble came out of its mouth, then popped. There was a choking noise, not unlike that of a death rattle, and then all was still.

This was much different than hunting fish. Fish didn't grunt and groan and roar and squeal when they died. All he had to do was boil them in the water with his fire-breath and enjoy a warm snack when he wanted a meal. These mammals were different, more visceral, and for a moment he felt almost sorry for ending this magnificent creature. Though he had hunted antelope before, and deer and other things, he had not killed elk **[2]**.

Still, he was hungry, and his stomach urged him to eat instead of dwell on his prey. So he ate, and ate, and ate some more, until half of his kill had been eaten. Then he was angry at himself, for he had gorged on red meat, and that made him sluggish.

He needed a temporary nesting place, one that would shelter him from the winds and the coming blizzard. The remains of the moose he placed on a high tree limb for safekeeping against predators on the ground. The birds would get some, he knew, but he would be back before nightfall, so they wouldn't take much.

Then he remembered the sea caves. There were dozens of them lining the cliffs, at least one of them must be out of the wind.

Stulte marked the whereabouts of the cache and took off, heading for the coast. Ideally he needed a large nook of sorts, one where he could lay up stores and still have enough space left for his supplies but still be out of the wind.

He still had the rope and parchment that they'd bought, wrapped up in a rudimentary buckskin pouch he'd made after catching a large specimen on one of the islands he'd been to and wrapped around his leg in the old spot. It was rough around the edges and the drawstrings tended to fall apart every other week, but it was the last reminder he had of Ocean, along with the maps he'd drawn during his search for her.

He soared over the gravel spits and the rocky boulders lining the craggy footpeaks, buffeted by the updrafts driven by the salty breakers, then over the open bay. Beyond that was a floe of icebergs, and farther off, almost to the horizon, was a wide stretch of white, and if he looked even further than that he could see the dark snowfall coming from the clouds. The temperature was twenty degrees below zero, and the sky had become overcast.

He turned back again and hovered, flapping. There were many dark entrances just above the waterline. Some were tall and some were short, but most of them opened to the northwest, exactly what he didn't want. A good home would point southeast, away from the winter wind, and it would be sheltered by a thick headland.

Caves like that were rare, and if he couldn't find one he'd have to weather out the storm in any cover he could find.

That was exactly what happened. The first snowflakes fell at about two in the afternoon, large crystals whisked into whirling flurries by biting gusts that dug into his scales and froze the skin underneath, to say nothing of his wings. He flew back to the cache. Sure enough, there were enough crows on the carcass to make a dozen pies, but he singed them off with a blast of his hot fire and took the prize in his talons, stopping only to warm himself with a low flame.

It stung like the dickens, but it was the only way to prevent frostbite from creeping into his membranes. Already his legs felt numb and he couldn't feel his tail at all, the only way to know that it hadn't fallen off being the weight pulling at the back of his body.

Getting back to the cliffs was slow going against the powerful headwinds, and he had to fly high to avoid the violent whiteout and drifting snow blanketing the ground. By the time he reached the coast the gentle flurries had become thick sheets of snow. The land below his feet seemed like a dark shade and he struggled to see landmarks. The visibility was dropping – it was less than two miles now and worse every minute.

Stulte dove into the first cave he could see, a small thing, hidden by a high rise that towered over the sea. He let go the moose and looked around. It was a small thing, not much bigger than his home back at the nest. Forty feet long and twenty-something wide, it was roughly oval-shaped and looked rather like the inside of a sea shell, if he ignored the fact that seashells usually didn't come in varied shades of black. Its back end was recessed and sloped downwards, protection against chilly winds.

The weeks of freedom had instilled a love for huge, open spaces in him that he had not had before, and he disliked this new nest almost immediately. Oh well. It wasn't as if he was getting out of here any time soon.

It was difficult to take off his pouch without the aid of a partner, but he managed, slipping the rope that attached his possessions to the rest of him out of the little nook in his scales and throwing the buckskin bag to the ground next to the dead moose.

So. Five minutes in here and he was already bored. A draft brushed his scales. Given that the entrance pointed into the wind, he would have to get used to it. Well, he might get some cleaning done; if he was going to be stuck in this tiny cave for the next couple days it ought to at least be nice.

There were pebbles everywhere, small ones, big ones, and some bigger than concrete blocks. He gathered them together in a pile at the back end and warmed them with a steady stream of soft flames. Once hot they would act as a radiator while he slept, guarding against the cold outside.

He blew on them until they were hot to the touch of his wings and went to the entrance. Snow blew over his face and he ducked his head so it wouldn't get in his eyes. Outside there was nothing to tell him what was horizon and what was sky. The bay was simply a dark blot somewhere below him that faded into the gray snowfall until the water and the air were all one and he couldn't tell the difference.

He went back to the stones and curled up on the lukewarm granite. It wasn't uncomfortable at all for him. He'd made do on sea stacks smaller than his wingspan before. Soon he was asleep.

A short, blustery day turned into a long, blustery night. The night was getting old when he had to wake up and heat the stones again because of the chill. The wind howled in the cracks and the snow rattled outside, but he was safe.

It was late the next morning when he awoke with an itch in his scales. He stretched and rubbed himself against the wall, then looked outside. It was still snowing then, and he ate some of his catch before he dozed off, dreaming.

His dreams had changed. At first he had dreamed of family, of independence, adventure, and of course, Ocean. But as the weeks passed he thought less of what he could not have and more of what he needed. These days it was mostly food that occupied his mind, but still he thought of civilization, if not so much as before, and the loneliness got to him sometimes. Nowadays he wished for a fireside chat with a friendly hermit or a hunt with his brothers. And then there was always the one he searched for.

It was late afternoon when he awoke and stoked the rock pile. He was hungry, so he ate a little and then went outside to complete his toilet. It was cold and the snow had accumulated almost by three inches overnight, but when he got inside the air was warm and toasty.

Night fell, and still the blizzard raged. Stulte almost ran out of fire in the early morning heating the cave. The storm began to die down after that, and just sunrise he woke up feeling like something was missing.

The cave was silent. The hiss of snow hitting the outside walls had ceased, and there was no roar of the wind. The world was still, and he felt like he was in a dream. He looked outside. The orange light of dawn poured into his den and painted the walls bright golden. He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them again the sky was just as brilliant as it had been before.

He had grown so used to the sounds of the gale that the world felt empty without it. Two days of rest had done him good, and part of him wanted to stay. Still, he needed to scope out his new surroundings, he told himself, and what better way to do that than an exploring trip?

A few short steps and he was standing on the basalt ledge separating the cave and the dark sea, the only thing between him and freefall. He jumped off. Down he sped, faster than an arrow from a bow made of ironwood, his belly nearly brushing the sheer cliff that raced past like a long blur, while dead ahead huge breakers surged and crashed against high walls and giant boulders the size of houses that would turn him into a colorful splatter if he hit.

He pulled up, and for a moment it seemed like he would not clear the minefield. Then he was past the rocks and skimming over the waves with his wings tucked in, laughing like a maniac. When was the last time he had done this?

"Wheee-yeee!"

Now that he'd had his fun, it was time to work. He rocketed over the headland and wheeled south above the Irish countryside as the sun rose at his flank and his shadow rushed over the glimmering ground beneath, warping as it went over the hills and the valleys.

So he passed through the watershed of the frozen river Darrer that way and turned aside east until he reached a line of great highlands that went back almost as far as the eye could see, and beyond even that was a row of great, hazy mountains more than two thousands of feet high, forested by evergreen trees, and in the middle of the range was an even higher mountain, almost three thousand feet tall, and this was Mount Errigal, though he did not know it.

This was the lay of the land to the east, and from there he turned flew north along the foothills until he reached the river Finn, and here he stopped for a quick drink before flying on and turning to the west so that he made a circle back to the cave, and the circumference of it was about forty-five miles, or an hour and a half's flight.

He was getting hungry when he reached the pond and the coast, keeping low to the ground because of his tired wings when a red dragon took off from the bank and almost collided with him as he came in for a landing.

* * *

 **Omake:** **Somewhere in the** **Northern Sea; A place known only to dragons** **and commonly known to Vikings as the** **brimstone pit behind Helheim's Gate.**

It was New Year's Eve, not that dragons celebrated new year's, and Major He-Who-Stews-Within-Himself-And-Investigates, or as more sane people would prefer to call him, Smolder, had a headache. Six days ago half of the nest had been wrapped in holly, several tons of food had been stolen, and cranberry sauce had been stuffed into the Queen's royal meals. Needless to say, she hadn't been very happy, and Smolder had come within an inch of his life several times in the ensuing debacle. Some hadn't been so lucky.

It had taken more than forty-eight hours to clean up the mess, and it hadn't helped that most dragons were in hibernation at the time. Now he had been called to the lower levels much later than he would've liked, and he was feeling rather grumpy as he glided around the rim of the maw before setting down on a rocky platform near the entrance.

There was a cold draft coming in and he drew his wings closer to himself as he approached the security team.

"Report." he said, loudly. Dragons jumped and turned to salute him. He liked it when they did that. It reminded him of worker bees hastening to obey the commands of their queen and the nest was their hive. His headache dulled from the sheer pleasure of it.

'The day goes sweetly when I have many bees to work for me,' he thought.

"Major Smolder, sir. We didn't expect to see you here so soon." said a yellow Nadder, the one in charge no doubt.

"At ease. I have no time for excuses. I want to know _exactly_ why you lot have called me down here in the middle of the night, and I want to know now."

The Nadder gulped.

"One of our sentries found a granddragon clock standing in the hallway sir **[3]**." said the Nadder, obviously expecting an outburst from his superior. Scratch that, his headache was returning in full force.

"Go on," said Smolder, his voice cold.

"It matches the description of a stolen time-piece reported missing six days ago in everything except color. It seems to be counting down to midnight." He brought out a garishly painted pendulum clock in a wooden casing coated in the ugliest blues, greens and pinks one could imagine, and there were words scribbled down the sides in terrible handwriting.

Smolder looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. They had called him down here for this! The very nerve of these people. He made a note to have someone flogged.

"There's more sir." said the security chief. "As you can see, the sides are decorated with writing. It says several things, mostly stuff about happiness and new resolutions. The drawers were all empty, except for a note. It's why we called you down here sir."

Smolder held out a claw. The Nadder gave it to him and Smolder snatched it away. He read it out loud.

" _I_ _noticed that you weren't enjoying New Year's Eve_ _very much_ _,_ _especially after all the trouble_ _I caused you on Snoggletog,_ _so I decided t_ _o spice things up a little_ _at twelve o'clock_ _._ _There'll be lots of bright explosions just for the children and confetti for all._ _I hope you_ _have_ _a happy new year!_ _Signed, Her Majesty's_ _Royal_ _Prankster."_

Smolder lowered the piece of paper and sighed. Then he blasted it with hot fire until it was nothing more than a soot stain on the dirty floor.

"How long until midnight?" he asked. The security chief shrugged. That was a mistake. "How long until midnight!" roared Smolder. He rushed forward and pinned the Nadder to a wall.

An aide came to the Nadder's rescue and pushed Smolder away.

"Less than a minute sir." he said.

"Then we're too late."

An loud boom rocked the group, then another, and another, and the passage exploded with leaves and bright lights together with the unmistakable sulfuric smell of Zippleback gas.

Across the nest there was a tumult as dragons were catapulted out of hibernation, sometimes literally. Then every hall, tunnel, nook and cranny shook with a guttural, angry scream. The queen herself was awaking from her slumber. This time she wasn't unhappy, she was infuriated. And on top of the mountain, Nayla smiled.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **[1]. Sorry 'bout that, for those readers who were paying attention to geography in Chapter 17 they may have noticed that Ireland is further** **north** **west than Wales and is therefore easier to find by a** **i** **r from the archipelago, especially since it's larger.** **It's my mistake and I'll fix** **the day** **after I post this just in case anyone wants to go back and see.**

 **[2]. Moose are a kind of elk.**

 **[3]. Yes, I realize that there is no way for** **there to be clocks** **in this time period unless they were extremely primitive, and even if there were Nayla would have a hard time getting her hands on one** **. But since this is an Omake** **and personally non-canon I think this is excusable.**

 **Check out my new community and PM me if you're interested. It's called Realism is King, and if you think your story is good enough you can nominate it to me via private messaging. I'll read it and decide whether or not I'll add it to the community.** **It's also OK to** **nominate a story without its writer knowing; more prestige for them,** **says I.**

 **If you've made it this far, cheers! I always enjoy readers who** **stick with me until the end of the chapter.**

 **Should you have any thoughts or criticisms, please leave them in the review section down below. It really helps to have honest pointers helping me figure out what I'm doing wrong and which** **things** **I'm getting right.**

 **I can say for sure that there is a definite ending for Stranded, but it might take a while to get there. About late April-ish is when I think I can get this thing done and start writing a sequel.**

 **Happy New Year's!**


	22. An Interim

**A/N:**

 **Congratulations to LastCookie23, the winner of last chapter's riddle. It was an envelope. DRF, it looks like you have some competition. Enjoy your victory cookie!**

 **(::)**

 **Great thanks to LastCookie, obliviousbushtit, Dragon rider's Fury and many others for their help, however large or small it may be.**

 **And here's the riddle.**

 **I am a stain in your memories, many times you question me. What am I?**

 **Changelog:**

 ** **Update 12.2.2019.****

 ** **For the record, I'm so stupid it hurts. I forgot to replace the word 'Divider' with an actual divider five times. It's fixed now, but that was an embarrassment.****

* * *

Stulte twisted in mid-air, felt a sudden burst of wind as the larger dragon slipped past him by a hair's breadth and swore. Blood rushed to his head and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest, for he could feel the blood rushing inside his veins and it was painful as his very essence thumped against his ribcage.

Hopefully the other Nadder wasn't an enemy, but he wouldn't bet on that, not on his life. There was no chance for him to run. His wings were weak, exhausted by his long flight, and his opponent was fresher than he, and much bigger to boot.

Fleeing was out of his reach, for now, and fighting looked like an exercise in futility, what with the state he was in. So Stulte did the only thing he could do. He talked.

"Who the hell are you?!" he yelled. His voice cracked; it had been too long since he'd last spoken.

"Who wants to know?" shouted the other gruffly. So it was a male then, which was both good and bad.

"Cain." A false name, for fear that someone would recognize his own from hearsay or a wanted poster.

A pause.

"Forster." Another fake name.

This guy had something to hide, but Stulte wasn't prying just yet.

"This your land?" asked he, now that 'Forster' hadn't tried to kill him just yet.

"The edge of it," replied the other.

Now that he had a better look at this Forster, Stulte noted his features in case he should ever meet him again.

Forster looked to be in his mid to late forties and had mostly red scales and a white underbelly. His spines were long and covered most of his body like those of a porcupine's, more so than those on most Nadders. He was strong and his movements were those of a survivor who knew how to fight. This was a dragon Stulte didn't want to mess with.

"You an outlaw?" asked Stulte.

The bold question caught Forster off guard, and he jerked in mid-flight from the sheer daring of it.

"Are you?"

"Maybe. I'm stuck in the same hole as you are."

Forster stared for a moment, then laughed.

"Out here what passes for law is thin. But perhaps I am an outlaw by your standards."

They spent a minute circling the frozen pond in uneasy silence.

"Where you from, Cain?" Forster asked, putting stress on the false name.

Stulte waved a wing to the west and Forster nodded understandingly. He preferred to keep details few and far between, but both of them knew what lay there, across the sea.

"You look pretty young for this sort of thing. Banishment?"

"Yeah." This wasn't the truth, of course, but the truth was too embarrassing to tell any old stranger.

Forster sensed the untruth, didn't press Stulte with more questions.

"How big is your land?"

Forster gave a long sweep of his tail pointing inland. Stulte whistled.

"What's the competition?"

"Not much, until you came along. There aren't many dragons this side of the water, and most of em' like to hide in the mountains. I have the coastline to myself these days. Ever met a real wyvern?"

This time Stulte was the one caught off guard.

"No, never."

"The people are.. Different from what you're accustomed to. Keep that in mind if you ever meet 'em."

Stulte nodded, looking like he knew what Forster was talking about but not really.

"You live around here?" asked the older Nadder.

"In a cave on the shore," said Stulte. He knew better than to say where it was just yet. "Where do _you_ live?"

"Here and there, but mostly near the river." Another vague answer. "It's been a while since I've had company."

"Truce?" asked Stulte.

"Truce."

They descended to the ground and shook wings.

"I'd stay longer but I don't know if I can trust you," said Forster. "No offense."  
"None taken," said Stulte.

"Will you be at this spot in two days, same time?" asked the other.

"Sure. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"Then I'll be off."

Forster leaped into the air and flew north. Stulte watched him go until he was a mere speck on the horizon, then sighed and went hunting. It was good to have someone to talk to again, even if the encounter had been as brief as it had been bizarre.

After the blizzard the rabbits were out in force, and Stulte caught three of them and some sort of barenecked turkey by the time he was done.

Dinner was meager by most standards, but to him it was a feast.

A foreign emotion was glimmering within him that he had not felt for months. Hope.

* * *

Gobber couldn't help but feel the slightest bit afraid as he knocked on Stoick's door that evening – not that he would ever admit it.

Two months, two months since he had returned home aboard that rickety old fisherman's ship, and the boon had carried a hefty price, which didn't help the Chief's mood, especially after he learned that his son was missing, probably dead. And the village's best up-and-coming shield-maiden too, but it was mostly the loss of Hiccup that bothered him so.

Viking chiefs weren't supposed to show sorrow after the death of a son – that was weakness, and weakness was the ultimate pitfall, only carry on and bear more sons. But Stoick's wife was dead, and he refused to take another, ever.

That made him a special case, but the chief had no choice but to continue his tough slog as usual, except now he had nothing to live for except his people, and that probably wasn't enough, he feared. It showed in his words and his actions. He was colder now, more reserved; the days of the Chief spending time just to have a drink and talk with the men were over and done with, possibly forever.

Sure, he did his best to rein in the troublemakers, as he always had, but his heart wasn't in it anymore. Not to mention that Spitelout was making a discreet bid for the chieftainship, and that man was always trouble, his son even worse than he was.

Sometimes Gobber wished that a dragon would scoop him up during a raid sometime and carry him off, but there was no chance of it that he could see. The man was just too wily to die like that.

"Who is it?"

"Gobber."

So Stoick was at home. Good. If he had been inspecting the fields tonight he wouldn't have come home until long after dark, and then he would probably flop onto his bed and fall sound asleep, not to be woken during the night unless there was a dragon raid – and it was winter, so there was no chance of that.

There was a long pause.

"Come in."

Gobber pushed open the heavy door and a trickle of soot fell into the snow, a reminder of the time a dragon had tried to flame its way inside. Good thing the wood was practically fireproof.

A fire crackled and popped in the fireplace, though it never seemed to warm anything more than three inches away from the grate. A white cloud blew from Gobber's nose when he breathed and drifted away in merry puffs until it disappeared.

Stoick sat on his stool with his hands in his lap, looking at the fire. It flickered from the draft, but he did not turn. So he was in one of his moods again.

Gobber closed the door and fastened the latch, then hung up his overcoat on the well-worn coatrack and took off his boots.

"You knocked," said Stoick. "You never knock."

"It's only common courtesy."

"Good news or bad news?" said Stoick, ending the pleasantries.

"Mostly good news," said Gobber. "Gruffnut had a son a few hours ago. He's a healthy baby, but I'm afraid the mother is having some complications."

"Will she live?"

"Gothi thinks so, but we're not out of danger yet."

"That's the twentieth kid of the year. We're practically having a population boom."

"No. Snoggletog happened. It's a new year now."

"I'd forgotten," said Stoick.

Stoick never forgot about Snoggletog.

"Look, I know you didn't come to tell me about Gruffnut's son. Spit it out."

Gobber took a deep breath. How to begin?

"Me and the Ingerman family have been looking through our sea charts along the route we took.." said Gobber, who wasn't hedging at all.

"What of them?"

"There's a large island east of the way we took. Hiccup and Astrid could easily have been carried there by the currents."

"And what makes you think that?" asked Stoick. For the first time Gobber noticed just how tired he looked. There were purple bags under his eyes and his face was drawn, as if he hadn't been eating enough.

"The ship ran aground on some underwater. There were no shoals along the route, so they must've been from an island. That's my first point. My second point is that Astrid spotted some cliffs just before we hit those said shoals."

"Why didn't you see this island after the storm?" asked Stoick. "This sounds like wishful thinking."

"Melec's vessel was blown off course after he rescued us for hours. We could've been anywhere by the time the storm blew itself out."

"Show me."

Gobber reached for his pocket, took out the map and unwound it on the table. It was a fragile thing, made out of brown parchment like the kind you would use for a scroll, ragged around the edges, and most of the ink on it had long since faded, but it was still legible.

The chief scooted his stool over to the dusty table, took a seat. Strange, that, because the chief always kept his furniture clean.

A charcoal line marked the ship's path out of Berk, skirting by a couple of islands, one of them marked with runes, and winding along to avoid facing directly into the trade winds until it got to the island of the Meatheads.

"Which island?"

"This one," said Gobber, pointing to one that looked like a jagged dagger.

"Ever been there before?"

"Two or three times to fill up on fresh water on the trip home. It's not my first choice. I think you've been there a few years back. Tall cliffs and a gravel spit at the 'hilt, I think, and dangerous shoals."

Stoick nodded.

"There's a stream running down the middle of it, from what I recall, and plenty of wildlife."

He traced his finger along the course.

"So a storm here," and he pointed to the middle of the map, "blew you a hundred miles off course until you wrecked on this island. What about this one?" he said, and pointed to another much closer to their stretch of the ocean.

"That one's made out of sand and stunted trees," said Gobber, who knew more about the northern ocean than Stoick did. "There are mud banks there, but no rocks. That's not what we hit, and the rest of the sailors swear to that."

"You're making a good case here, but there's a chance one or both of 'em could've been dashed against the boulders before they got to the spit. If the water was cold they might have frozen to death if they couldn't pull themselves out into a cleft in the rocks."

"Maybe that would be for the best," said Gobber. "Hiccup and Astrid, alone on an island. That sounds like a disaster in the makin'."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Stoick tensed, clenched his fists, and Gobber was suddenly tempted to check whether he had fastened his pegleg on tight enough that morning. It was barely a month old; he'd gotten a new one after he'd gotten home since the old piece had been cracked in the storm which he didn't want to think about.

"My son is better than that."

"Well, I didn't mean it that way. I just think the villagers might get some funny ideas into their heads. Yeh know how people are."

Stoick said nothing, only rapped his fingers on the dinner table and sighed.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say what you just said. Moving on, how's the fisherman doing?"

They both knew who he was talking about. The man and his son who had rescued the crew from the wreck of their longboat.

"Melec's still griping about having to stay the winter on Berk, even though we paid him the boon."

"We'll have to keep an eye on him, make him comfortable for a few months until the thaw."

Stoick nodded. "What about the boy?"

"Eighteen years old, flirt, reckless and good with a filet knife. He won't be too hard ta' control, but there's always the chance he'll do something stupid."

"That's typical of most boys his age. Anything else?"

"Naw."

They sat for a minute, thinking.

"Want a tuber?" asked Gobber. "I filched one from the Hall when it was still warm."

He reached into his pocket.

"Sure."

Stoick took the food and held it over the fire close enough to the flames that Gobber could see it char.

"What are yeh doin'? You're goin' ta' ruin the food!"

"It's as cold as an icicle."

"And tougher," said Gobber, only under his breath. "That's why I gave it to ya'."

"I heard that."

Gobber wasn't hungry; he'd already eaten, but Stoick ate his quickly, even if it had the pep of dried celery and the insides were as hard as a brick.

"Ignoring the question of whether Hiccup even made landfall, I think he'd be hard pressed to survive through winter," said Stoick. "It's a cold year. Or Astrid, for that matter."

"He's inventive. He'll find a way, somehow," said Gobber, who'd come to think of himself as the boy's godfather. "One rescue mission is all I'm asking for."

"The people won't support it, like as not. They don't have the same faith that you do. And there's always Spitelout to stir up the masses. Sending a ship on the off chance that they might be alive would be like kicking a hornet's nest."

"C'mon. Stop bein' such a pessimist."

"I'm being realistic, nothing more. Unless..."

Stoick trailed off, a twinkle in his eye.

"You did say that Melec's champing at the bit to go home, right?"

"Yea," said Gobber. "But I don't see how that has anythin' ta' do with it."

"I have an idea."

"Well that's obvious. Yeh're a man with a plan, and we all know how that goes."

Stoick stood up and paced around the table, ignoring Gobber's jab.

"Why don't we send a longboat with Melec in the spring, for.. protection."

Gobber saw what the chief was getting at now, and a twinkle came into his eye too.

"It's only natural. The dragons get hungry after their hibernation that time of year."

"But we'll have them turn back once they enter Meathead waters, have them say they don't want to push their food stores. Then it's a clear run back to Sword Island, Gobber, and you can have them search all you want."

"Why, that's an excellent plan!" said Gobber, then realized something. "Wait a minute. Aren't I going ta' be the captain of tha' boat?"

"No."

"What!"

"You're the village's only blacksmith, and I need you here."

"But I went last time!"

"That was in the fall. Phlegma will lead this expedition. Besides, we need able-bodied men on that ship if something goes wrong. We both know that if the boat capsizes you'll sink like a rock."

"Not if I kin take off my metal hand first, I won't."

"There's always the chance it might happen, and I can't risk that."

"Oh, I'm touched."

Stoick stopped pacing and faced Gobber.

"Look, I've already given you your expedition. You're not going to be on the ship, and that's final. Given the state of Berk's fleet right now, we're lucky we even have one to spare. The one that foundered – the Ice Catch, was it?"

"Ice Proud."

"That was our second-to last warship any larger than a skiff."

"I knew that already."

"I'll have the Ingerman's build another one in the summer if there's time."

"Sounds good."

"Alright then. I still have more chiefing duties to do before I go to bed," said Stoick. He put on his coat. "Are you coming? It's snowing outside."

"Who am I to refuse?"

* * *

Another trap, another dead rabbit, I thought as I worked a buck hare free of the noose that had killed it. The plan to put snares around the thicket had been a very good idea. I had visited six traps today, and four of them had caught something or other.

I tied the animal to my belt, cleared away the brush that covered the mechanism of the trap and pulled it out of the ground, took it apart and put it in my buckskin pack. There was no use leaving it here; the smell of death would keep prey animals away from the site for weeks.

It had been three weeks since we'd settled in at our ramshackle new home, give or take a few days. I hadn't checked the day stick in a while.

Hiccup had done some figuring and found that Snoggletog had had been about a month ago and worked his way back from there.

Things were getting better, depending on the way you looked at it. Often there would be a snowstorm during the night and we'd wake up to a roof bending under the stress of six inches of snow. I'd had a cold, and Hiccup had nearly twisted his ankle falling into a gully.

Our food stores were tenuous, they always were, and a marauding fox had stolen a good portion of what we had before I drove him off with a few choice arrows. The stream was almost always frozen over and there weren't many fish to begin with.

But I hadn't heard anything much out of the ordinary for a month, not seen so much as a dragon track. Sometimes a cry would rise up out of the east as if it were the howling of wolves on a gusty night, but it was always the pines roaring in the wind.

And there was always the occasional deer or antelope to shoot, if I was lucky. There was no way to tan the hides right, but we made do with what animal fat we could scrounge up and that did a good enough job, at least for a while. At long last we had something waterproof.

Compared to what we'd been through, life was alright, if not good, and I'd made sure to sacrifice to Odin for our good luck.

I frowned as I brushed the snow away from the seventh trap. It was almost buried in a pile of snow, probably a lump that had fallen off a branch and set it off, which was rather unlucky.

The rest of the trapline was better by far, and by the time I set for home I had quite the catch. Then I took a detour. Getting home was easier if I followed the stream, but the way down was rocky. I knew there was an easier crossing down south, even though it was farther away, and I took it.

The ground sloped downwards as I walked, going closer to the stream, and I could hear the faint burble of running water under the ice.

That was when I saw the tracks. They were bunched up like the animal had been running, a doe by the looks of it. Running from what?

I was curious, and since the trail looked like it went in the direction I was going anyway, I followed it. There were other prints mixed in, almost those of a dog's except larger. Not a fox's, for sure. Foxes didn't chase deer.

Two dogs chasing a deer, and large ones at that. It's almost impossible to tell a dog's track from a wolf's, and though I was worried by now I wasn't afraid.

Ah. There was the carcass. A snowy rise in the ground lead to a fallen log that was impossible to go around. The deer had tried to jump over, but lost its footing and fell. Its end was grisly. More tracks converged on the spot.

Most, if not all of the skin was gone, scattered everywhere in a bloody mess that had frozen in shallow pools on the ground, and the meat had been ripped from the very bones by sharp teeth that had punctured the ribs. I prodded the body with my boot, squeezed at what was left of a vein. Chilled blood dribbled out, stopped.

This deer had been killed seven or eight hours ago, at most, judging from how much it was frozen. Besides, the hunt couldn't have happened last night. Even the light snowfall we'd had would've erased the tracks. Wild dogs or wolves had done this.

Both scenarios were bad, but I hoped it was wild dogs, an escaped bunch from a ship that had taken on fresh water at this island years ago, perhaps. Wolves wouldn't be as forgiving, not to mention they carried grudges for much longer. And besides, there wasn't enough room on this island for two packs.

Not to mention the shelter was less than two miles from here and I hadn't heard a thing.

I went home disturbed.

Hiccup was sitting on a rock and making a throwing spear for himself, from the looks of it. He waited until I got into camp to talk.

"How many?"

"Seven. I would've got more but one of the traps went off without catching anything and another was buried by the snow."

"Out of a set of sixteen? That's pretty good for this time of year."

"Yep."

I threw the traps into a pile. We'd salvage the cord later.

"If I had a pot I'd boil off the scent," he said, "But we don't, and there's no clay."

"We could use bowls," I suggested.

"Too small."

"Did you get anything?" I asked.

"Naw. Nothing on my line, and I can't get close enough with a spear to do any good."

"I ought to show you one day."

"If there's enough time," he said, tapping a piece of flint until it flaked to his liking.

I hung the game I'd caught on one of the tent poles upside down, slit their throats so the blood would drain out.

"We ought to have a real smoker for these, not just our campfire," I said.

"Don't have the tools."

"It wouldn't have to be much. Too bad the ground's frozen and we can't dig a pit."

"What I would give for an axe."

"Yeah."

"Say, something's bothering you."

So he'd noticed.

"I ran into a dead doe today. There were tracks all over the place, couldn't tell if they were from dogs or wolves. Parts of the carcass were still warm," I said.

"Are you sure it wasn't just a wild dog trampling the snow?"

"I counted at least four sets of prints, not including the deer."

"At least four dogs. Where'd this happen?" asked Hiccup. He was calm, calmer than I expected him to be, but he still sounded worried.

"South of the thicket. You know, where the gully isn't as steep next to the stream. That's where."

"That's not far. Less than two miles, isn't it, and downwind a bit. They'd smell our woodsmoke for sure. We'll have to be on guard."

"It's already a big risk running the trap lines alone. Looks like we'll have to stick together."

"Yeah. I knew I heard something this morning. It sounded like barking but I wasn't sure."

"You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was pretty early. I must've forgot about it when I made the fire."

"Drat. And here I was hoping for some peace and quiet."

I chuckled, but my heart wasn't in it.

"We'll make do, we always do," said Hiccup. "Now are you going to help me prepare the game or what?"

* * *

A faint glow lit the eastern horizon as Nayla watched from the mountaintop. Dawn was almost here. She was leaving soon, leaving the everything she had ever known behind. Her father was probably worried sick. She wouldn't know. It had been months since she'd seen him, inside the nest where she couldn't get to him.

She couldn't stay here, not when her friends were still out there. The waves crashed on the shore as she looked out over the dark fog, and she felt small. One tiny dragon flying one big sea. She spread her wings and took flight.

It was time to go.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **An update! I bet you thought this would never happen. But it did – gasp!**

 **If you have a thought or an idea to share with me, however small, remember that the review box is down below.** **I appreciate it.**

 **Thank you for reading.**


	23. Good Graces

**A/N:**

 **Those of you who've read Trust is Earned (Revamp) may be familiar with one of the characters in this chapter.**

 **I won't ruin it for anyone else, so if you want to know that little easter egg you'll have to go read that story** **as well. Skip to Chapter 4.**

 **Apparently no one solved the riddle from last time, which means that no one will be getting a victory today, unfortunately. Buuut, this chapter's riddle should be easier than last one's. Here it is.**

 **What room do ghosts avoid?**

 **On the subject of** **the use of dragon vs. man in speech, my argument is that to dragons, other male dragons are men and other female dragons are women. What do you want me to do? - Invent a whole new set of** **nouns?** **Obviously I'm not going** **to bother to do that, so bear with me in future chapters here.**

 **Made while listening to the classics. Don McLean, Billy Preston, Billy Joel, Tom Petty,** **David Bowie and others.**

* * *

Winter was dead and gone on Berk, and now Devastating Winter was in full effect. Of course, it would've been much better if he didn't have to deal with the Jorgenson's on this fine wintry evening. But Stoick did have to deal with the Jorgenson's tonight, had to endure his half-brother's endless blathering about how great his son was and how great his judgement and how many dragons he might slay once he became a warrior – true to Viking form, there was a betting pool on this.

Stoick wasn't stupid. Spitelout was buttering him up, trying to make him more accepting of the fact that the Jorgenson's were trying their hardest to make Snotlout the heir to the chieftainship.

But then, the evening would've gone far better if the Hofferson's hadn't shown up to his house as well, which meant that the Chief's lonely house was now host to about forty people, most of whom had invited themselves.

It was only natural.

And now both clans were eyeing each other warily, keeping to different rooms and giving Stoick seemingly casual glances all the time. Well, most of them. A few wanted to talk, and – oh, here came two of them now, one Hofferson and one Jorgenson.

One of them Stoick thought he knew, the one from the Hofferson side, and the other was Spitelout.

"Good evening Chief," said the first, though they both knew it was anything but.

"And you, Haldric," said Stoick back.

"Thank you." Ah, so he was correct about the name, though Spitelout looked miffed that the other had greeted him first. Haldric was Astrid's father; though he'd gotten over the loss of his daughter since it had happened, and explaining it to him had been one hell of a talk.

"There is more to discuss than the weather, is there not?"

"What else would there be?" said Stoick, though he knew what his brother was getting at full well.

He could see the frustration building up within Spitelout and knew that he needed to keep it down and make amends before the man could do something truly stupid.

"I'm concerned about Berk's leadership. You know as well as I do that there is no heir. Should you step down or worse, there could be chaos as clans strive to put someone on the High Seat," said Spitelout.

Haldric caught on. "It would be wise to appoint a backup… in case of emergency. A warrior who could keep things together before the next chief grows into his role if you cannot find a person who could assume that position. After all, we want what is best for our people."

"And now the only question is who will get the job," said Stoick. "I am your chief; you can talk straight with me."

The two men glanced at each other, clearly not expecting this.

"That is a relief. All that beating around the bush gave me a headache, although we Hofferson's want to have your assurance that you would consider our candidate."

"As do clan Jorgenson," said Spitelout.

"Of course. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Snotlout, of course."

Haldric considered longer. "I would put forth my son, Torenn. He has just become of age, bright and he can handle people. There are many who would vouch for him in other clans, never mind my own."

"I know him from the arena. Second place, and I'd wager he's strong for a man of his size, though he is somewhat thin. Is he here at the moment?"

"I had him stay home today. I wouldn't mind a walk over to Hofferson hall, if that is what would befit you."

"No. Send a runner and bring him here. I would like to see him in person before I make judgment."

"And what would that be, exactly?" asked Spitelout, seizing the opening.

"I will not pronounce a decision one way or the other; those you have suggested are still too young and there is still time for them to grow before I begin their apprenticeship, not to mention that there are others who will want a chance."

"So you are considering appointing an heir." asked Spitelout, ever the sharp one. "I'd thought so, ever since Gobber came back with the news from that voyage."

"Yes. The loss of my son was regrettable," said Stoick, being careful not to show any parental weakness that his half-brother could exploit. "but Hiccup wasn't prepared to lead the tribe. Berk must move on, as it always has, and if that means disrupting the Haddock line to provide leadership than so be it."

Haldric nodded, then turned and walked to the Hofferson side of the house and whispered into a man's ear. A moment later the other excused himself and left.

"There has always been a Haddock as chief, brother," said Spitelout. "If someone else takes the seat the chain would be forever -"

"I know."

It was at this moment that Haldric came back to the two men standing by the doorway.

"I've sent Linde as a messenger. Now all there is to do is wait."

And wait they did, until the fire ran low and Stoick went to put more wood on, though there ended up being so many people helping him as he did it that he mightn't have even bothered, but there was plenty to spare; and the flames crackled and sparked until the house was quite warm and cozy.

"Hark to that gale," said a man, Destic clan Hofferson, Stoick thought, and he was right. "This is a well-made home if it can withstand such blasting by the wind."

"My father built this house," said Stoick, and when he tapped on the wall it rung solid.

It was one of the last things he'd ever done before he'd been killed by a lethal combination of Nadder fire and a blast from a Night Fury.

Presently there was a knock on the door. Stoick opened it and it was blown into the wall by a swirling gust of freezing air and tiny flecks of snow, hitting the doorstop with a bang. In came Torenn and Linde, both throwing down their coats on the floor and taking off their gloves, which were passed away to the crowd so they could warm their hands by the fire.

Torenn had straight, strawberry blond hair and keen blue eyes, and he wore a brown tunic with a faded red stripe painted down the middle of his chest. He looked nineteen, almost twenty, and he had the odd look of a boy who is just becoming a man, adolescent features almost hardened into a pale square face, lightly weathered by regular hardships.

He was older than Snotlout, more mature, and it showed; though his face still held the mischievous glimmer of youth, he had four years of experience over his soon-to-be rival; Stoick could see he was tense behind that facade of resting by the fire, questions running through his mind as the ice melted off his boots.

"Good evening," boomed Stoick, and he raised a hand, daring Torenn to shake. He did, and the other bit his lip, his fingers burning as they were engulfed by the chief's giant grip, his skin still cold despite the warmth of the house.

"Good evening, Chief," said Torenn. He glanced at his father, then upwards at his leader. "I didn't expect you to invite me up here so soon."

Stoick laughed at that. This kid had a gut but he knew his limits, and he was confident.

"I had to see what you were like, and here you're making an impression on me before you've even dried yourself off."

"Thank you. I aim to please."

"Has Haldric told you what he's doing?"

"He says he's aiding my future. I don't know the position he's trying to get for me."

Sharp, then, which was always a good thing. The elder Hofferson chuckled a little.

"An important one. Are you up for the job?"

"Anything."

"You'd have to be quick on your feet, good with your mind and your tongue. You'd have to withstand everything that life can throw at you and you'd be responsible for many men's lives. It would be a great sacrifice. Can you do it?"

"I believe I can."

"No. Can you do it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll consider you. You can go home now; I didn't plan to have guests tonight."

"Yes, Chief. I'll be right out."

"Go on! Go on! You heard me. The party's over, now shoo! Shoo!"

One by one men filed out of the house until only Haldric and Spitelout were left.

"Does Torenn have a chance?"

"Only if he proves himself."

Then they left, and Stoick was left alone for a few minutes while he warmed up his leftover dinner over the fire, not bothering to cook for himself tonight as he had come to do, because he wasn't the best at it and never would be.

Supper was almost ready when there was a blast of cold air and Gobber stepped in, hanging up his coat on the hook and warming up his hand by the fire. He was in the habit of doing that these days, moreso than ever before.

"What was the celebration?" he asked. "All these folks headed up to yer place a bit ago, and milling about inside, and then they were off before I could get here."

"You were busy?"

"Aye. A smith's work is never done, even in winter. We're running low on metal, and I have to use what I can to make nails for next year. Every time we lose a ship..."

"The iron is gone forever. I know that. Come for a bout of evening encouragement?"

"It depends on how yeh're doing, but yes. Care to say what the big event was?"

"Some of the men from Clan Jorgenson and Hofferson came uninvited. They want me to appoint a new heir."

"And of course whoever it is has to be from their respective clans. Typical. Got anything to spare?"

This last was directed towards Stoick's cupboard.

"Not much. Brought your own food?"

"Didn't have time."

"I see."

"Did anyone stand out to yeh?"

"Torenn, maybe, but there may be a few others who I haven't seen yet. But between Snotlout and him I'd pick Torenn, given that he's strong, sound of mind and older than Snotlout, not to mention he has common sense."

"Is he aggressive enough to be chief?"

"In words, yes, but actions speak loudest and I haven't seen him do anything yet. I'm thinking to test both candidates" what a distasteful word "with a taste of power this winter; give them a part of the village to take care of, that sort of thing."

"A test of merit, then. And I have the odd feeling that Snotlout will fail horribly."

"Indeed. A more incompetent boy attempting politics I have yet to see. Still, assuming he loses, it'll be a mess until the Jorgenson's accept Torenn as their man."

"Will they challenge him to a fight?"

"Probably not. Clan Hofferson has no blood feud or major insult going beyond a mere rivalry with the Jorgenson's, unless they do something so politically inept you'd think they were a bunch of three year-olds, which they won't, because they're not stupid. There isn't any chance of that."

"And the Jorgensons have too much sense to try and assassinate him, unless they're dumber than I'd even credit Snotlout for."

"Which they aren't, but it's still a close thing. The Thorstons are on the Jorgenson's side for now -"

"And the Ingermans are split. Clan Hofferson stands alone, at least until people realize that Snotlout will fail at this test of yours. Then they'll follow the one who can make them the most money and give them the best prospects. The only reason they're following the Jorgensons is because Spitelout is willing to take bribes."

"Sometimes your street experience is invaluable."

"Aye. People are often less discreet in front of a 'mere smith' like meself."

"That comes in handy. Now, I must make this test fair by all means. My grandfather tried to weight the scales and look how that turned out."

They both knew the reason Stoick's father had become chief so soon.

"Torenn will win of his own accord and hopefully Snotlout will be discredited, which means that the Jorgensons will be out of the running for a while, at least until they can come up with another man they can manipulate just as easily."

"What if Spitelout tutors 'im?"

"I will make that illegal, as in the Dragon Training competition."

"They will push against that, of course."

"It is an old law, one that will not be overturned because it is traditional."

"And what if Torenn loses?"

"It would be a true feat for Snotlout, one that I doubt he will achieve even though the Jorgensons will doubtless attempt to bend the rules from the start. Unless he doubles his intelligence he will not win, and even if Torenn fails someone else will be the best."

"And if the expedition finds Hiccup or Astrid or both?"

"It is unlikely; besides, my son is unfit to lead."

"If he survives his time on the island will toughen him."

"That remains to be seen; not to mention the potential scandal if both of them are rescued. People will always think the worst, and in that case it will be no different."

"What did he say when I asked him about getting married to Astrid?" mused Gobber. "I think it was 'swift death would be a mercy'."

"That sounds like him."

There was a momentary silence, during which Stoick began to eat his supper.

"Gruffnut's baby got sick yesterday."

"Already?"

"The healers say it's just a weak cold, nothing too serious, but they're worried. Losin' this one would be a big hit for the couple."

"And yet Berk goes on."

"There are less and less people every year. Sooner or later we'll have to do something."

"Stop hunting for the nest?"

"Yes, like -"

Gobber almost did a double-take.

"Yeh're serious?"

"I'm always serious. Face it; there's not enough men left to do anything, and every ship that goes down is a drain on our resources like you've said. I won't go gallivanting off on a wild goose chase this year, not any more."

"Well, I am glad to hear it. All this talk of heirs is making me feel old."

"We are old."

"Not too old, or you wouldn't be chief and I wouldn't be banging it out in the smithy day after day."

"True. I'm thinking of taking a back seat in a few years. Maybe five or six, maybe as much as ten. A new generation is coming to take the reins."

"It's a pity most of them are so lackluster."

"Torenn seems alright for his age, but you're right about most everyone else, not to mention Dogsbreath."

"It's been a while since I've seen him. Thank goodness."

The conversation wandered into other things, and soon Gobber was ready to go.

"I'll be visiting the great hall for a bite ta' eat. Are yeh coming?"

"Not this time," said Stoick. "Not this time."

* * *

It was a sunny afternoon and the snow glittered as Stulte waited idly at the bank, sparkling bits of ice dancing at his feet, blown by a crisp breeze that rustled his wings. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, only a seemingly endless expanse of blue that went on until it touched the rolling horizon, a land of hills and valleys that heaved up and down until they came back to the lone dragon standing by the pond.

Forster ought to be here by now, Stulte thought, as if the other's arrival was timed by a clock and the clock was running late. He hated to waste time here, impatient, always impatient. It'd been two days since he'd almost crashed into Forster and made a truce. They'd agreed to meet at this very spot and at this very time.

Stulte looked out again, glanced to the west and the east and the north, then back to the east. A red speck had appeared, bobbing up and down with the wind as if it were a mere bird, and for a moment he was tempted to ignore it and be disappointed for the hundredth time. But there was something about it that was unlike the flight of a hawk or an eagle and such, and he looked closer, hoping to see spines.

It was another dragon. So Forster had come. Not that Stulte would more than comment on it; seeing that the older Nadder was the only other friendly sentient being that he'd seen in months and he didn't want to alienate him.

'Forster' came in slowly and landed with a thump, talons kicking up tiny chunks of frozen dirt as they dug into the frozen ground.

"Hello again," said Stulte, for lack of anything better. "It's been a quiet few days."

"Good afternoon, Cain."

"Well, it is a beautiful day. I've been waiting here for quite a while. Did something delay you?"

"No."

"I suppose that's all I'm going to get out of you."

"For now. Remember that you're on my land."

Stulte looked toward the sea. "You said yourself that you've plenty of space. You can spare a bit of the coast, I'm sure. Otherwise I'd have to move out, and I'd hate to do that."

"Of course I can," said Forster, then, "I know you're trying to manipulate me, but I would've given you a few acres anyway. It's been a while since a new guy's moved in, and you're no boring lout either."

"You're serious? There are some people who think I'm about as interesting as a piece of deadwood."

"But you're here, and that counts for something."

"Outlaws must be pretty lonely out here if you're willing to have me for company after talking with me a grand total of twice."

"I've no reason to dislike you, but that doesn't mean I'm going to trust you either."

"That's what I expected, given that if you'd taken me into your confidence right away my first thought would've been 'how are you planning to screw me over?'"

"A wise philosophy."

"I'm surprised we're on good terms so soon. When I was a hatchling everyone told me that most people on the frontier would want to eat me. Not that She doesn't, of course, but better the devil I knew back then."

"And you're still naive. We outlaws don't treat that monster with respect when she doesn't deserve it."

"I see. It gives her power even when she can't really hurt you. What do you call her instead?"

"Her ugliness."

Stulte considered for a moment. "It has a nice ring to it."

"What got you banished? Ms. Warts doesn't do that often."

A sad laugh. "I think she prefers to have the unfortunate wrongdoer as dessert. There was a girl -"

"Obviously. A fight?"

"No. She wanted to leave the nest, I followed."

"Did she make it?"

"I don't know. I might stop looking for her."

Forster took this in stride. "It's a common story, no less tragic for all the times it's been told, though I wouldn't give up just yet. I assume that's what brings you to Ireland."

"That's it."

There was more to the matter than that, but Stulte wasn't ready to tell his tale in full until he was ready. Maybe he wouldn't be for a long time. "Why are _you_ all the way out here?"

"It's a long story. Suffice it to say that I angered the wrong people at the wrong time in one of the colonies."

"You didn't live in the nest?"

"No, not the one you're talking about. Another, more lenient than yours, but I bent the rules too far in my youth."

"Ah," said Stulte, understanding at once and yet not. Old people had different views from him, he knew. Not that he could change anything.

There was a brief pause as the two looked out over the hills, loitering. Not that there was much to see except for snow and barren trees, and here and there an evergreen, partially hidden in a creek bottom or hollow, boughs awave in the crisp breeze.

Forster was first to speak.

"I'm hungry."

"Did you have a long flight here?"

"Not too far, but I haven't eaten since last night. This place is good hunting."

"From what I can see. I caught a moose before I met you the first time and a turkey after you left. Which way?"

"South, I suppose, since you've already spooked everything here."

"When are we taking off?"

"Now."

One stroke of his powerful wings and Forster was up, a cold gust catching Stulte in the face before he too became airborne, both legs tucked up slightly as he followed the elder outlaw.

It was almost nostalgic, he thought, reminding him of a different time. Now they banked left, heading parallel to the coast, and the salt came into the wind currents as Stulte leveled out and rode a gentle updraft, still gaining altitude, though not as fast as he would if he were still in the beginning stages of flight.

"Why aren't we going higher?" asked Stulte.

"Stop mumbling, I can't hear you!"

Right. It had been a while since he'd spoken to someone else while flying. He had to shout.

"Why aren't we going higher!?"

"No need! Besides, I don't want to scare off all the smaller animals before we can get 'em because they saw us coming from a mile away."

"I've never hunted like this."

"You like to stay high and dry? Keep your eyes open when you're following me, because you just might learn something."

"We're too close to the ground. Not enough vision!"

"If we can't see them they can't see us! Be quieter, you might scare the game, and keep your eyes peeled."

Well, if Forster said it would work, Stulte decided he'd tag along for the ride, though he had his doubts about the method.

They flew on for about five miles, passing a sheltered grove and a small valley with an icy brook, seemingly frozen in place by a cold snap and never thawed. There was no sign of civilization, only true wilderness much different from that of the sea, which was flat and went on almost forever with few landmarks, whereas here it was much less… empty.

A wave was a wave in the ocean, and once he'd seen one he'd seen them all – until he ran into a storm while flying at low altitude, which had been an interesting experience to say the least. Here a tree was a tree, but they came in all shapes and sizes and colors and many kinds which Stulte had never seen before – the nest was a rather barren learning environment when it came to nature.

Eventually they came to another pond, larger this time and almost deserving of the title 'small lake'. A sizable watercourse fed into it from the north-east; the ice at the south almost reaching a dry streambed that led off to the south, meandering a little until it turned right and marched to meet the ocean.

"Is this a good place?" asked Stulte.

"Yes. Look!"

A broad swath of dense brush led almost to the bank and a flock of bare-necked turkeys were drinking from the water, while to the side a lone male browsed, head flitting about as his eyes swept the landscape for predators.

Dragons counted as predators. Forster flared his wings and made a quiet landing behind a hummock. Stulte wasn't so discreet, landing with a loud crunch.

"Shh!" said Forster, one eye peeping over the hill, the better to see if the gobbler had spotted him. "Eight jennys' and a jake."

"What's a jenny?"

"A hen. A female turkey. That's what most people call 'em around here. Don't stir; their eyes are attracted to movement."

"As are most animals."

But Forster was already off, creeping along behind a ridge, going around the lake, probably trying to creep up on the flock from behind by dint of his silent approach and chase them into the open, away from the brush, where they would be easy pickings.

If it worked, he could bag the entire flock. If they heard him they might get away before he could get into the clear and fire his spines. Hunting on the ground was high risk, high reward.

Stulte wasn't sure where his part in this plan was, so he stayed still, waiting until the birds were flushed; not as experienced as Forster, one misplaced step could alert the jake and then the birds would be more cautious, more likely to spot the other dragon and more likely to escape through the woodland.

One of the hens looked right at him and for a moment Stulte thought he had been seen. His breath caught and he kept perfectly still. Then it looked away and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Then Forster was in the bush, creeping along the shelter of the dead rushes. Here his rusty scales hid him well, his spines blending in perfectly with the barren branches so that even Stulte, who had good eyesight, lost sight of him more than once. If it was difficult for him it must have been impossible for a turkey, and that was what Forster was counting on.

Camouflage worked.

At the last moment the jake sighted a flash of motion and raised a warbling cry, warning the flock, but it was too late. Forster had closed to less than a hundred yards and had cut them off from their cover, and their only choice was to flee into the open.

Now was his chance, thought Stulte, and with but a thought he was in flight, heading off his prey from the front, powerful wingbeats eating up the range like it was nothing.

Faced with an oncoming juggernaut from the front and a swift terror from behind the hens scattered, the jake not far behind as they ran for their lives, hoping to gain enough speed for a takeoff. Not that that would have saved them from their pursuers. In the deep snow, without much of a crust, they had no chance.

"Don't kill them all!" shouted Forster. "We don't need that many."

Still, it was a slaughter, both dragons spearing as they pleased, picking off the stragglers first and working upwards until there were only three who were left to escape the blood-spattered field. Stulte let them go, leaving them to their fate in the wilderness, possibly to join another flock. If they survived, that would mean poults this spring, and by fall there would be more food for the dragons. It only made sense.

"Good job," said Forster. "I didn't expect you to wait."

"Thanks."

"Well enough, for someone so young, that is."

A compliment and an insult. "Ha ha. I still have a long way to go."

It would be a while before Forster trusted him at all, and the same went for Stulte, but there was progress being made. He'd found an acquaintance, if not a possible friend, if the definition of friend including being more than a little uppity, but maybe that came with age.

He would have to go back and search for Ocean this spring. He wouldn't find her, probably not, but he would never forgive himself if she was really alive and thought that he had abandoned her. This year, and then next year he would scour the oceans. After that… there wasn't much point. Either she was dead or she wasn't, and at that point the chances would mean that she was probably dead.

But until then he would have to earn the good graces of this Forster.

* * *

If I had to describe these last few days in one word, it would be 'tense'. Myself and Hiccup have to stick together now, and we don't go too far from camp any more to avoid straying into what we think is wolf territory.

On several occasions I have found dragon tracks not too far from here, though they all pass us by and do not seem to head towards our meadow.

I heard howling last night, almost like the wind in the clefts, only more primal, in a sense, and much as I hate to admit it, we are both very afraid. I train with my bow when I can, hunt when I must, and then with Hiccup close by, just in case, though he often flushes the game before I am ready. He is learning, still, and he has made a spear for himself which he carries at all times; even managing a kill with it once.

Compared to the vision of a charging wolf pack it is such a flimsy thing, but we are doing everything we can to prepare for the worst, even while Hiccup hopes that we will not encounter them again. I am skeptical of our chances, privately.

Why did we not hear them before? The island is not as big as I had originally thought; I could walk its length and breadth in less than a day, I think, though it has been a while since I've been on top of the hill, looking down on the land, unless I am missing something that has gone heretofore unseen, a hidden cavern where they have made their dens, perhaps.

There are caves close by, certainly, though I dare not venture into them for fear of awakening a bear.

My cold has subsided, but Hiccup had a mild bout of sickness after he was caught in a snowstorm and couldn't warm himself fast enough, something I blame myself for. Presently we have begun work on a smoker and an extension to the existing shelter, both as a larder against hard times – if what we are in doesn't count as hard times, I don't know what does – and to create leg space.

I can hardly fit in there at nights, and though the addition of blankets has greatly eased our problem with the cold, nothing can replace the old rock we had at the old shelter as a windbreak and a support for a lean-to.

It's been nearly a month and a half since Snoggletog now, but time passes slower than ever. I can only hope that someday Berk will remember us and send a ship for rescue. It's unlikely. They probably think we're dead, dashed on the rocks, and now they are moving on, as is the way of our tribe.

In a decade few will even remember that we ever existed, just the victims of another tragedy in an unending string of tragedies.

It's getting dark now, and soon I'll have to get up and put more wood on the fire, then eat a meager supper and get some shut-eye. What with the way things are going, I'll need it.

* * *

The first thing Nayla realized about winter was that it was _cold_. Her wings felt like they had been turned into a icy board, or would have if she could've felt anything at all besides the constant burn of freezing and thawing ichor in her veins; it was so bad one of her blood vessels in her wing membranes had burst and it was horrifying. She'd never known it could be that cold, so cold that her lungs cracked with every breath, throat coated in frost.

The sky was clear, clearer than she had ever seen it, but the sun shone through an icy haze and did not heat the air, impotent. It was the worst winter she could remember, or that anyone at the nest could remember; she knew that because she'd overheard people saying it in the hallways.

She was a fool, but she was a lucky fool. Ahead of her was the faint outline of a tiny island. It looked no farther away than five miles but she'd quickly learned that distances could be deceptive; it might be as close as two and as far as twenty. Probably twenty.

Twenty miles to that tiny place of shelter, and she didn't know if she could make it, hoarding her every breath because it hurt to breathe, her muscles exhausted from overuse when she hadn't flown back at the nest for months – really flown, and then she'd never gone too far.

Now she'd been flying for eight hours straight, straining herself for distance towards a small cluster of islets which she knew, vaguely, were more than five hundred miles away. She should've seen them a long time ago, and then she knew she was lost.

She was losing altitude now, couldn't gain it back. There were no updrafts, only a brisk north-western wind that blew her forward but also pushed her south, away from her eastern course and forced her to waste energy fighting the crossbreeze.

Twenty minutes of painful flight later she reckoned she'd gained half the distance to her destination but lost more than half her height, and the crashing of the waves and the tang of the salty ocean were stronger than ever.

Just.. a little.. bit.. farther. Just when it looked like she was doomed, that she would hit the water head-first and freeze to death just short of safety. She was skimming the surface now, barely able to keep her talons above the sea spray, at the last moment her talons touching the impossibly cold icy crests before a gust caught her and threw her forward, over the tidal zone, throwing up a swirling cloud of white as she flopped onto the snow-covered beast, rolling over twice before she came to a stop, chest filled with lancing, excruciating pain.

But she was alive, alive and not turned into just another iceberg in an ocean of icebergs because she had failed. No, she was alive.

Now she had to find shelter; a place to sleep, out of the elements. There was a cave near the shore, a long hollow that was big enough for two dragons but not much else. There were scales there, blue and white and blue and a creamier white, some with a tiny bit of yellow; Nadder scales, by their shape and size.

So dragons had been here, probably within the last eight months, given that the scales hadn't started decomposing too much yet, and Nayla felt a small sense of comradeship with whoever had come before her.

Soon she would need food. She was already hungry, her stomach could attest to that, but she would worry about that tomorrow, secure in the knowledge that she had survived to worry about it today. A small stream of fire on the rock underneath her feet and she had a place to rest for the night. She'd had better, much better, but that didn't bother her much when instead she could be snoozing with the fishes.

Night came early in the arctic; in an hour the sun would sink below the horizon and darkness would come. She was already asleep.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **If there's anyone actually reading this, I know you'll have a few questions for me. Why, Blackberry, did it take you almost two months for you to get an update together when you weren't even** **on** **hiatus;** **because when you** _ **were**_ **on hiatus you still managed to deliver a new chapter within six weeks?**

 **The short answer is** **that I was busy.** **I was busy with Trust is Earned.** **I started a few other projects that you may have seen. I was busy writing about Wings of Fire.** **I was busy with family; three of my siblings have had a birthday within the last three months and my mom has one this week.**

 **And I was unsatisfied with this chapter. A lot. That scene where I introduced Torenn? I spent a week agonizing over that, writing and rewriting it constantly; even now I'm not quite happy with it but I've finally realized that I can't be perfect and I have to deal with it.**

 **Writing this chapter took a month, so I'm sorry LastCookie23, you're probably going to have to reread the last chapter to acquaint yourself** **with the story** _ **again**_ **.**

 **As always, leave a review to tell me what you think.** **It doesn't take too much of your time to do it, and it helps motivate me when I see that there are still people who are interested in this old fic.**

 **Don't worry. I'll finish this, but I can't do that in April like I said I would, not unless something happens to free up a lot of my time and it doesn't look like that will happen any time soon.**

 **Cheers!**

 **Next up -** **We get to see more of Hiccup and Astrid.**

 **Timestamp: Written February Somethingeth - March 28th 2019.**

 **Changelog:**

 **March 28th 2019: 15:34 - Read the chapter over again before I published it the next morning. Changed some things about Nayla's flight scene. Added dividing lines.**

 **April 13th 2019: 12:46 - Changed some words in the latter part of the chapter to improve the flow and generally cleaned up a bit.**


	24. The Real Chapter

**AN:**

 **It was Dragon Rider's Fury who guessed the riddle in the last _real_ update. Am I really so transparent? Anyway, have a victory cookie.**

 **(::)**

" **My life can be measured in hours, I serve by being devoured. Thin, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. Wind is my foe. What am I?"**

 **A few days after I posted chapter 23 I was rewarded with an anonymous guest review asking me to do more Hiccstrid, because 'after all they do end up with children in the movie'.**

 **What? This makes no sense. Whether or not they have children 'in the movie', which happens five years after HTTYD 1, has no influence over my AU.** **Yes, Hiccup is a teenager. Yes, Astrid is a** **lso a** **teenager. Yes, hormonal things will usually happen in these situations, but that's not what I'm trying to do in my AU because Hiccstrid has been done so many times before it would make me positively** **ill to throw away their characters just for a bit of Hiccstrid.**

 **Hiccstrid wasn't the focus of the first movie;** **Hiccup was the focus of the movie, and his dragon, and what happened when he befriended Toothless. Astrid being interested in him after the fact is just the cherry on top of one of the best cakes in animated film history.**

 **I'm focusing on survival here, and any love that goes on would be… well, that would be spoilers.**

 **Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate it.**

 **NOW – On to the stuff that actually matters.**

 **I received another review, this time in Spanish for whatever reason, and since I'm not all that good at reading** **Espanol** **– I'm working on it! - I had to put it into the translator.**

" **It is understandable, adult life squeezes us. Do not be discouraged; we will continue waiting for you to update.  
P.S. ****O** **ne of the ghost readers."**

 **Thank you very much Kirika! I'm glad to see that there are more than a few people who enjoy the fic.**

 **Changelog: Forgot to do the dividers. Again.**

* * *

We're almost finished building the larder now; all that remains is to make the last wall from sticks, double-thick, and weatherproof it before we reattach the slab to the lean-to, and then we'll have no more trouble from marauding foxes or raccoons.

It's better than hanging the meat outside on wooden poles, but still, I want something better soon; a proper tent that I can sit up in without having to worry about bumping my head on a cold support – not that we have enough skins to make anything like that.

Everything we catch has to go into mending our clothes and fabric for blankets. We never have enough furs. A fur draped over the door to keep the wind from blowing right through our shelter and stealing what little heat the fire provides. Waterskins. My quiver.

I sneezed, flecks of spittle splattering all over the wattle frame I was working on. Hiccup looked over from where he was sitting just outside of the shelter, a long shadow cast on the little lodge by the fading, early evening light.

"Is your cold still bothering you?"

I thought about it, and then decided that it wasn't too bad.

"It's only the sniffles," I said. "Nothing to worry about."

He frowned and bit his lip, then shrugged.

"As long as it doesn't get worse. You know you can't afford to be sick."

"I'll be fine."

Another shrug. "Alright."

There was a quiet silence for a while as we each worked on the frames, weaving branches into a crosshatch grid, to pack snow and mud and moss into later, forming a makeshift wall.

The air was frigid, as it always was, even sitting in the lee of the forest and our shelter, the wind snatching the heat away from my fingers and making my hands feel distant.

I went to warm them up by the fire for a bit. My palms were callused, my arms tough and windswept where they'd been scoured by grit. I shivered. It was an effort to keep my teeth from chattering incessantly, and I remembered how many times I'd nearly gotten frostbite this winter alone.

The heat from the hot flames burned like tiny, jabbing needles pricking my fingers, worse than the biting pain of windchill until my skin loosened up and stopped feeling like a stiff board. Then I began to enjoy it. But then I had to go back outside and help Hiccup again, would have to until the last light of dusk faded away and I would be so tired I'd fall asleep almost as soon as I crawled into the blankets, cold as they were.

I sneezed again. Hiccup gave me a worried look.

"Are you sure you're fine?"

"I'm sure I'm sure," I said, but my nose was running a little and I sniffed. "I don't get sick very often."

"If we had a pot I'd make some hot water for you to drink," he said. "But -"

"We don't have a pot. I know, and it's too cold to harvest any clay even if we had a shovel."

"Wouldn't, shouldn't, don't have the materials for.. it's all the same to me. Maybe we should think about what we can do instead of what we can't."

I looked down at the frame lying in the snow.

"Weell, I can finish the groundwork on this before nightfall… and we have just enough food for supper.. and I'm still well enough to go hunting.. although it'd be nice to have a broom.."

"I can do that."

"And another knife."

"I've already made a spear and bow and arrows: why not?" he said. "Maybe you should try helping me sometime."

Hiccup cracked a smile and I couldn't help but grin, even if my face still felt like dried paint.

"And blankets."

"We can never get enough of those.. but we've done alright so far, so I guess we can make do for a little longer," he said.

"I can. Can you."

"Of course."

"And I'll teach you to be better with at using your spear – honestly, your throwing skills are terrible."

Hiccup had the dignity to be mock-offended, putting a hand on his chest and puffing himself up. "And here I thought I was at least 'bad'. Apparently I'm even worse!"

We both chuckled.

"I always thought 'terrible' was better than being plain bad, because how else would you explain the names of half of Berk's people?"

"Not to mention my own," said Hiccup.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's so bad about yours? Sure, your clan is named after a kind of fish, but it's better than Fishlegs."

"I always thought Haddock were a very nice kind of fish."

"Good eating."

Once again Hiccup looked mock-offended.

"I'll remember that. To answer your question, my middle name's actually Horrendous."

"Your middle name's horrendous? What kind of name could warrant that kind of description?"

"No, it's Horrendous."

It took a slight second for me to get that through my head, and then another half of one to find out what to say.

"Ah," I said, as if that explained everything but really explained nothing.

For more than a minute I did nothing more than weave branches. Under, over, under, over – fiddle with one that was being uncooperative – set that one aside, and then go under and over again until my fingers ached and that was just one row.

"Someday I'm moving into a tent," I said. "I hate this work. Boring and repetitive, that's what it is, and it's going to give me a crick in the neck, sitting here for hours on end like this." I was exaggerating, of course, but it wasn't all that far from the truth.

"You can say that again," said Hiccup.

There was another minute's silence as we concentrated on finishing our work. The wind was becoming gusty, as it always did in the evening – strong blasts that had come close to blowing over the shelter far too many times. The clouds scudded by overhead, racing with the air currents faster than any ship could ever hope to sail; low to the ground, they mushroomed over the treetops, billowing, coming in close almost as if they were about to squash us flat like bugs, and then flying over our heads with all the grace of an ox careening downhill.

"Looks like there'll be good weather tomorrow," I said. "Clear skies push away the storm."

"Clear and cold. Funny how there's never any heat from the sun in the winter."

"Or the warmth will make the snow melt and the rabbits will come out of their holes."

"That'd be good for our trapping lines," said Hiccup.

I took a break and sat by the fire, even though I was almost done with the wattle.

"More pelts for us."

I felt a cough coming on, muffled it in my sleeve.

"Say, do you know how to sew?" Hiccup asked. "Beyond mending, I mean."

"Really sew?" I laughed, but there was no mirth. "I never learned anything beyond the basic stitches from my mother and I've probably forgotten half of them since then. I wish I'd stuck with that, at least, and not spent so much time training with my axe. I never regretted it back then, but now…"

"It'd be useful to have a pair of gloves."

"One for each of us. We can switch hands every six hours," I said, joking.

"Maybe two pairs," he said.

"Do _you_ know how to sew?"

"Not really. I always thought it was a girlish thing to do that, and I didn't need Snotlout to have another reason to torture me, so I never asked anyone to teach me. Never thought I'd need the skill, back then."

"Can't you figure it out?"

"I could, definitely," here he rested his chin on his palm and his brows furrowed - "I'd need thread, and a thimble, and I'd… it's better if both of us know how, so that way we can be more self-sufficient."

"That makes sense."

"Maybe I can make myself a new coat – you've been wearing mine for the last few months."

"Not all the time. I can give it back to you, if you want."

Hiccup considered it. "No, thanks. You'll need the warmth for a while, until you recover from your sickness. Hopefully we'll have at least a vest by then."

"At least."

A blue tone had crept into the light and the forest looked dimmer. I knew the sun was close to setting. It hadn't, not yet, but it would soon.

"It's getting late," I said.

"Already?" asked Hiccup. "I'm almost finished with my frame."

"We'll have to weatherproof it tomorrow, I suppose. Not that we have the materials on hand right now, but they're easy to get."

"Done." Hiccup held up the thing, turning it from side to side as if to admire his work in the glow of the fire. It was neater than mine, but not by much, branches knit together where they could be and wide gaps where they couldn't. Still, with enough moss and hemlock boughs and mud, it could be airtight.

"Good."

A gleam grew in the west, pale at first but brightening rapidly, until the bottom of the overcast sky turned purple, then pink and then red and orange and a little band of yellow where it was strongest. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, the sun sank beneath the cloudline before it fell under the horizon, sending luminous rays dancing through the woods and turning the world brilliant orange.

"It's a shame we can't see it," said Hiccup, referring to how the trees blocked our view.

"Remember when we used to sit on top of that old rock and watch the stars come out? That was a good camp."

"I could see the ocean stretching on forever from there. And since when did you say 'we'?"

"I can't remember. When we stopped hating each other's guts, I think."

"Those were the good old days."

"Three months of hardship and you're already acting like an old man. You're only… what, fifteen?"

"Probably. My birthday's close to the spring solstice, so I'm probably nearer to sixteen. Look – the light's fading."

And it was; dying away almost as quickly as it had come, until there was only a strip of dull purple remained where before there had been bright red, and then that too was gone and the orange, crackling glow of the fire was all that was left.

"Too bad it's cloudy," I said. "Then we could watch the aurora."

I smiled, then bit my lip. I'd forgotten how cold my hands were, and I blew on them, cold mist drifting away from the two of us as we sat in front of the shelter until there was little gleam in the west.

"Well," said Hiccup. "looks like it's time to make supper… once you're finished with the frame, go check if we have enough wood to last us the night."

"I'm almost done. Give me a minute and I'll be through with this," I said, fumbling about in the dark for another branch which I could just see, annoyed because I couldn't quite grasp it with my numb fingers.

There.

"Have you cut a notch in the day stick?" asked Hiccup.

"No. I thought you might have while I was out and then we would've overcounted."

"I didn't."

"You do it then, while I fasten everything down. I don't want that fox coming back again and stealing our food," I said. "Done."

And I leaned the frame against the shelter to get it out of the way.

"If that happens one of us will have to kill him. Speaking of food, what do you want to eat? – we have three options. Rabbit meat, rabbit meat with a side of venison, or venison with a side of greasy rabbit meat."

"I pick steak."

"We don't have any because we ate it all."

I chuckled, then sneezed, then tried to pretend that had been a laugh.

"True. I should go hunting more often; not just check the traplines. Too much rabbit will make us sick."

"If you can't find a deer go shoot a marmot or something," said Hiccup.

"Marmots have musk glands and I hate butchering them."

"It's food."

The tasty smell of roasting meat filled the air, mixing with the smoky scent of the warm fire. Hiccup turned it back and forth to make sure it would cook evenly, careful not to let it drop too close to the coals to keep it from collecting ash.

"Someday we ought to have a pot for this. My arms are getting tired."

"Besides, then we could make soups out of the leftover bones, not just suck out the marrow."

"I hate doing that – sucking out the marrow," said Hiccup. "It's always baked hard on the outside and goopy on the inside, and whenever I try to cook a bone all of the flavor seeps out and ruins the joints. I don't roast bones – only let them simmer in soups, and then I'm never quite sure that I'm doing it right because Dad was a bad role model. And even then it's like sucking warm eggs, which I don't like."

"I think the chief is the only man in our tribe who can burn a stew," I said.

"Probably. If we ever get back, don't tell him I told you. Better yet, don't mention it at all, even by-the-by, because then rumors would fly like wild-fire and half the village would know by the day afterward."

"Is it personal?"

"To Dad, yes. It's the only thing he's ever given up on."

"That you know of."

"Well, Gobber would've told me all the embarrassing stories if he'd ever quit anything else, and Gobber's told me quite a few things I wish I hadn't heard, and Gobber's been Stoick's best friend since before I was born. Before your brother was born."

"Before he lost his leg?"

"And his arm. Can't forget the arm. Believe me, if my father had ever given up on something or someone before, I would've heard about it," he said with the air of someone who knows he's being final.

Hiccup took the slab of venison away from the fire, careful not to let the fat drip on his clothes – not that it would've mattered anyway – and laid it on a rock.

"Supper is served," he said. "Where's the knife? - I need to divvy this up."

"In my pocket – here." I gave it to him and he took it by the handle, cutting the meat sideways and giving me the biggest piece.

I frowned, seeing how little he'd given himself.

"Don't you want more?"

He shrugged. "This is enough for me."

"You're skinny. You need to eat."

"I was always skinny, but I don't like to think I've gotten any thinner."

"Alright."

We ate quietly, thinking more about the food and our bellies than talk. It was charred on the surface, a little rare on the inside, and sometimes actually good-tasting, but at least it was better than my cooking.

Night had come over the forest, and the only light was an orange half-circle around our campfire; farther away, the snowbanks gleamed dimly, reflecting the warm glow. In the clouds a whitish-blue halo marked where the moon was rising from the east. Perhaps it was full tonight, perhaps it wasn't. It'd been a long time since the sky had been clear, and then I'd been too busy with the business of survival to notice trivial things like that.

Finally Hiccup leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction and closed his eyes, yawned, and I was tempted to do the same. Still, I had to mark the day stick at least, and I took the knife and cut a small notch to the right of the one I'd made yesterday.

"Are you done with that yet?" asked Hiccup. "I'm going to sleep."

I yawned. "Who's doing the night watch?"

Hiccup frowned. "I'd almost forgotten. We have to watch out for the wolves."

"I don't think the gods will let us into Valhalla if we die in our sleep," I said.

"No, no they won't. I'll do first watch."

"You're tired. I'm not. Let me do this. I can wake you up later."

Hiccup scratched his head. "I don't need the sleep" and here he yawned again "that badly," but even as he said it he could tell it wasn't true and both he and I knew it.

"Get some rest. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

Hiccup opened his mouth and then shut it just before the words came out, realizing he was beaten.

"Fine."

He ducked under the blanket draped over the door and disappeared into the shelter. I could hear shuffling inside as he crawled into the furs.

"Good night Astrid."

"Good night, Hiccup."

It was quiet then, now that we weren't talking together, nothing but the creaking of the walls and the fluttering and crackling noises of the fire – little pops of steam and tiny hisses when a spark flew onto the snow and went out. The trees whispered and sighed, blowing in the wind, which had died down to a gentle breeze that ruffled my hair and bent the flames sideways.

The clouds ran from west to east, flowing through the sky as if it were a giant river and I was looking up at the suds from the bottom as they whirled past, the sheer scale of it far beyond the scope of what I could see.

It started faintly, like the sound of a gust blowing through a crack, except… different somehow. Wilder, even, if that was possible, slowly rising from a low pitch until it reached its height and then dying away, only to come back again louder than before, coming from the east.

It reminded me of.. of howling, growing closer, building in strength. I sat and listened a while longer before I was sure of it, and I was about to wake him up when it faded for the last time, echoes playing out along the island before the sound disappeared for good.

So Hiccup had been right all along, and there had been howling and there were wolves around, which was odd, because I prided myself on being a light sleeper and I hadn't heard a thing. Should I wake him now?

I thought about it, but then decided not to. It was better not to disturb his rest with worry when I could plainly see that he needed it, and letting him go on night watch was bad enough. I'd tell him in a few hours.

So I waited, and although I was on edge after I heard the wolves, there was nothing out of place during the time I sat there next to the fire, save for a flash of color at the edge of the glade once that must've been the fox, though I think he turned tail when he saw me sitting there and figured that it wouldn't be a good idea to get in a fight he couldn't win.

Smart fox.

The night was beginning to grow old when I opened the drape and nudged Hiccup. He woke up quickly.

"Is it my watch yet?"

"Yes. And by the way, you were right about the howling."

He sat up straight and nearly bashed his head against the roof at that. "How close were they?"

"Not too close. I could only hear them because there wasn't much wind and the sound carried just right. You know how much snow dulls the noise, but I don't think they could've been nearer than two miles. Maybe a little more."

"Good to know," breathed Hiccup. "I'm bringing out my spear tonight."

"I don't think it'll do you much good, if they decide to attack."

"You're supposed to be encouraging, but no, I'm not very good with it. It's for my confidence."

"Good luck."

"Hopefully I won't need any."

"One last thing," I said. "You'll need to put some wood on the fire. It's running low."

"Sure."

Hiccup fumbled for his spear in the dim light and found it lying in a corner. Then I felt it poke my stomach.

"Watch it! You almost cut me with that."

"Sorry, sorry. It's really hard to see."

We switched places and I fell asleep almost as soon as I'd crawled under the covers. Later there was a noise outside and the sound of Hiccup muttering something which woke me up, but from what I could tell he had everything under control and I closed my eyes again, drifting away to sleep.

* * *

The morning dawned bright, clear, and cold, and I awoke with a bright ray of sunlight shining in my eye through a chink in the wall of the shelter. That would have to be fixed. Hiccup must've crawled inside sometime earlier, for he was resting under a fur, curled up in the corner to make space. He'd have a crick in his neck afterwards, and those were never comfortable, so I didn't wake him up, instead going outside and putting some wood on the fire.

It was windy, and some of the ash had been scattered about during the night so the snow had been turned a dirty grey, not that it bothered me. The stream was covered by snow and probably frozen solid, as usual. Annoying, because then there was no way to fish, and it'd been too long since I'd tasted the crunchy flavor of roasted cod or perch.

There wasn't enough heat for a thaw, so there weren't any icicles except for what formed at the sides of the shelter, but the view was beautiful all the same, and I stretched away the knots in my back before I set to work making breakfast, working the coals until they produced a small flame that was hot nonetheless.

I went to check on where the meat hung and frowned. The topmost pole, which was settled in the crotch of two other Y shaped branches, had cracked down the middle and bits of venison and rabbit meat had fallen onto the ground in a pile.

Evidently that had been the noise I'd heard last night; Hiccup must've given up on trying to fix it in the cold and dark and gone back to bed without cleaning up the scraps.

And sure enough, a line of tracks ran up to the cache, each one about the length of my middle finger, then away into the forest. Fox tracks. Now it had learned that it could come here and steal food whenever it wanted to do so, had come right up to the shelter and stolen some of our hard-earned catch. I'd kill that animal, kill it the first chance I got.

Foxes were crafty. Who was to say that it couldn't get into our larder? We'd have to set a trap on the outside to catch it then, and hopefully that would take care of it. If that didn't work I'd have to hunt for it with bow and arrow.

There was still enough food left for a small meal, however, and I set to work cooking for myself. The scent would wake up Hiccup even if he was tired, and if it didn't I'd leave some out for him.

My cooking wasn't as good as his, but it was good enough for me, and by-the-by I had enough to eat with my fingers. My face and hands were a greasy mess by the time I finished, and I thought of how my father or my grandfather would surely make me wash with soap and water if they saw me like this.

Soap. We needed to make some of that too. Another thing to put on the mental list.

Hiccup ducked under the drape and came out of the shelter, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling it around as if it ached. Knew it.

"Good morning," I said.

"Same to you," he said, and yawned. "It's sunny again. That's nice."

"It is. I would've made more for breakfast but a fox came along and stole some of the meat and I couldn't find where you'd put the rest of it, so I made do with the scraps."

"There wasn't much left after we made dinner last night, so I didn't bother burying any." He looked over at where the pole had cracked. "Looks like he stole the biggest piece."

"It's only natural," I said, being wry. "The next time I see him I'll kill him and use his bushy tail for a scarf."

Hiccup paused. "Knowing you, I wouldn't want to be that fox anytime soon."

I grinned. "We'll have to check the trap lines early, I suppose, and I'll go hunting. I'm getting sick and tired of eating plain rabbit and hare."

"Don't go alone."

Part of me wanted to say that I would be fine. Then my eyes watered and I fell into a coughing fit, Hiccup looked on, worried.

"You're going to need my help." And he was right.

"Eat," I said, changing the topic.

"Alright."

Again, breakfast was quiet, but afterwards Hiccup helped me attach the last of the frames to the back of the larder, and we moved what was left of the meat inside for temporary protection. Good game needed to be hung for a few days in the open air to make it taste better, but in these freezing temperatures there wasn't much point to it, so we didn't bother. Hadn't bothered and probably wouldn't until we could deal with our fox problem, at least. Then the larder would become a backup, used for jerky and smoked venison and herbs. Mostly jerky.

Then I got my arrows and my bow, _Silencer,_ and we headed off to the thicket to see if we'd caught anything in the traps, Hiccup tagging along with his spear in hand and a waterskin. It wasn't a long walk by far, but difficult because of the snow. Still, we made good time, and soon we'd made it to the first one. I told Hiccup to step quietly as we came close. No use scaring the warren out of their wits.

The first trap was empty, which was disappointing, but there were more, so it wasn't much of a loss. But so was the next one, and the next, and the next, until we crested a small hill and got to the fifth, the last in the run.

It was destroyed. The mechanism had been hidden under a bush and covered with snow to disguise the human scent on it, but something had plainly gotten into it and spread bits of branch and vine and snare all over the place; the shrub nearly uprooted by ferocious digging.

"What did this?" asked Hiccup. He squatted, looking over the damage.

Snow and frozen dirt had been thrown every which way ferociously and the stuff hid every spoor for about five feet or so, but I circled around the scene and eventually found a trail going away towards the thicket.

"Wolf tracks," said Hiccup. Even he knew enough to recognize the huge, dog-like print.

"Looks like," I said, my mouth suddenly dry. "It looks like it was limping, as if..." I thought back to the fight, back when I'd first had my bow, and how I'd injured one of the pack in the leg. Several of them, actually, one of them a huge grey. "as if it was shot."

"By you." It wasn't a question. "I think it hates us, since we killed its leader."

"Wolves are animals. Animals don't think like that; they can't hate," I said, and coughed. "Like dragons – mindless beasts."

At that Hiccup opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better, paused, and said something else. "This looks like a new trail."

"The wind would've covered the tracks with snow by now if they were any older than a couple of hours," I said. "Look; the edges of these two are already starting to be erased. I'd give it three hours, at most."

"Well, let's hope it didn't destroy the other traps. I'd hate to be hunting with one of the pack around."

"Hopefully," I said, tense. "I shouldn't have to say this, but keep your spear at the ready. It might still be around, preying on the game in the thicket or eating a kill it's already made."

"That's an idea. Maybe it ate something the trap caught," said Hiccup, grasping at straws.

I frowned. "I didn't see any blood stains or fur. Besides, that wouldn't warrant such a huge scuffle."

"Great. A wolf after revenge. This island keeps getting better and better doesn -"

"Shh. We're nearing the next set," I said, bow at the ready, an arrow in my hand, ready to be strung.

This run of traps had been concealed very close to the thicket, almost touching the thorns, and they ran along the perimeter, spaced about forty yards apart, in copses, out of sight under moss or hidden in outcropping brambles, concealed snares that had taken a large toll on the warren.

"Looks like it's been here too," said Hiccup. Every trap had been uprooted; there was gravel and frozen dirt lying about on the ground and the place was a mess. Even some of the shrubs hadn't escaped the wolf's wrath.

"Well, this explains why we didn't catch anything. All the rabbits were too scared to come out. At least we have some other lines in the north that ought to be salvageable," I said.

"If they haven't been destroyed."

"They're too far away to be noticed, at least by this wolf. If we're lucky we won't lose all of them."

"I have the feeling we lost any of the good luck we had when we survived being thrown overboard and getting washed up on this Gods-forsaken island."

"Hiccup!"

"Sorry! It's just that I hate this place."

I did too. We walked around the brush for about an hour, trying to find a trap that hadn't been mangled irreparably, wary of danger all the while, but it was long gone. Once we found a place where the wolf had had a meal – brown, soft rabbit hair and tufts of speckled gray stuff that looked and felt more like grit than anything else – and there were bloodstains everywhere. Messy eater.

I sniffed. Suddenly my nose felt stuffed with mucus.

"Well, the good news is," I said, in a rather nasally voice, when we had finished looking over the place. "is that it doesn't look like there was more than one of the pack here."

"Which begs the question of where the others are, how close they are to our camp, and whether they've circled around to pick up our scent," said Hiccup.

I coughed.

"I wouldn't be so glum. Still, it's certainly odd that one wolf would single out our stuff like this."

"Of course, until you take into account the fact that it's seeking revenge."

I didn't believe Hiccup. He was just being silly. Wolves couldn't harbor grudges, nor could they understand the idea of revenge or any other such complicated sort of thought.

"Not to mention the threat of running into that Nadder again," said Hiccup.

"I'd be surprised if it hadn't flown away by now," I said. "Stop being ridiculous."

Still, the cold air felt colder than it really was, but I convinced myself that it was just my nerves making me jumpy and nothing else.

We checked the northern trap lines after that, and to my relief found most of them in perfect condition, save for one that had sprung prematurely when it had been hit by a falling bough. Other than that, one of them had even caught some sort of grouse, and I fastened it to my belt so we could bring it back to camp.

It was a squat bird, but plump, and it would serve for supper after I plucked it, and breakfast besides, if myself and Hiccup rationed ourselves.

Morning became late morning, and late morning became afternoon, so by the time we got back to the meadow the sun was high in the sky and beginning its long arc downwards to the horizon and sunset. We hung up the bird to cure until evening and finished work on the larder, placing it next to the already existing shelter. Connecting it to our abode could wait until we weren't fearing for our lives.

Then lunch was had from the last meat scraps. Hiccup roasted them excellently, but it was nothing compared to the flavor gained from letting them simmer or sizzle in a pot or frying pan.

And in the meantime, my cold was getting worse, going from a few occasional coughs every few minutes to short fits.

When my nose started running Hiccup got worried. Well, more worried than he already was.

"You should be getting some rest," he said. "I can take care of the chores this time. Just once. Go lie down or something."

"No.. I don't need any rest. I'm fine."

"You could catch pneumonia. Goodness knows we've been out in the cold long enough for it. Or bronchitis. Or wasting disease."

"Stop beating yourself up about it. I'm going to be fine. Besides, it's impossible to catch wasting disease from cold weather."

Was it? I coughed again, into my sleeve; hacked up a glob of phlegm and spat it onto the ground.

"I don't want you to take chances. You don't have to do everything yourself," said Hiccup.

"This isn't me trying to do everything by myself. I'm trying to do a fair share and not leave all the work to you."

"You've done more than enough, and I'd appreciate it if you don't work yourself into the ground at a time like this."

"Fine," I said, sitting down on one of the boulders sticking out of the ground. "But I want to be doing something to help."

Hiccup looked around the camp. "There's not much to be done, I think. The only way to get more food is to go hunting, and it wouldn't be a good idea to do that when you're sick and there are wolves around. We don't need firewood, yet, and we don't have a broom, so you can't sweep -"

"I can make one. That wouldn't take much more than a pine bough and a stick."

"I'll go get the materials then. It's a short trip."

And he went and fetched them from the forest and came back with what I needed and I set to work, lashing the stem of the bough to a long branch with a vine and swinging it around experimentally.

"There are pine needles falling out and they're getting everywhere," I said. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Well, at least it smells nice," said Hiccup. "Just make sure you don't drop any on the grouse while I'm plucking the bird, since I'm doing the butchering this time."

That was my job. I sucked it up and swept around the camp, dusting away snow and grit, coughing everywhere and feeling generally useless. It wasn't too late to be out hunting, regardless of the wolves, and with any luck I'd be able to bag a guinea fowl or auk or boar sometime.

"Hey Astrid?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to bag that fox any time soon? If it wasn't for him we might have some extra food left, but now we're down to only scraps."

"I'll shoot him the first chance I get," I said.

"They can be pretty crafty."

"They also have greed, like any other wild animal. My guess is the animals out here didn't know how dangerous we Vikings were until we came ashore and started trapping and letting arrows fly. Trust me, he'll come back for more, and when he does, I'll be waiting."

"Dark speech."

"It's the truth," I said, and it was. The fox posed a threat to our food stores. In my mind the matter was black and white. It deserved to die.

There was a time of comfortable silence for a while. Hiccup must've gotten the message. No matter how idealistic he could be at times, he could see reality. Besides, I really could use a scarf.

Hiccup finished plucking the bird; held it over the fire for a few seconds to scorch off the last of the stubborn hairs that remained. It was no substitute for a scalding tub, but it worked to get rid of the distasteful little things.

"Astrid," he said, binding the bird to a spit for cooking as he said this. "I'm rambling here, I really am, but – do you consider me a friend?"

"That's a random question."

"Yes, but still… do you?"

I felt tempted to shrug, but didn't. Hiccup was good at what he did. He could make a shelter, he could create a bow from scratch, he was decent at fletching and he was cheerful enough. He'd surprised me sometimes, what with how tenacious he could be.

But that wasn't the question he was asking. _Did I?_ Did I consider him a friend? Well, we were friendly enough now, but it hadn't always been that way. Not on Berk, where I'd practically despised him. Not during the voyage to that tribe – what was their name – the Meatheads? Not when we'd first been washed up on Sword Island. Still, I hadn't had to save him when he'd been washed overboard; in the confusion, it would've been perfectly alright for me to let him drown.

And steadily I realized that I'd slowly come to get along with the green-eyed boy over the hard weeks when he was the only person I could really talk to, the only intelligent being in this place.

"It was a rocky start," I said. "But yes, I do consider you a friend of some sort."

"That's good to know. For a while I thought that you might hate me, and then we were on the run for our lives and I'd forgotten about it until now. So I had to ask."

"I didn't hate you," I said, conveniently leaving out how much I'd looked down on him at Berk. "I just didn't like you, thought I could do things on my own."

"And yet you're the one who's saved my life at least twice from wolves and once from a dragon. This seems like a one-sided friendship to me," said Hiccup.

I chuckled.

"Moving on, I remember that we used to like each other as kids, probably until we were as old as ten, but by then you'd changed, moved away from me. It was as if you were growing faster than I was."

"I remember that time well," I said, sitting down. "My clan was still feeling Finn's death back then, and that and my brothers inspired me to take the path of shield-maiden; after that anyone who I didn't deem strong enough or fast enough or tough enough I didn't really talk with anymore. My father encouraged me in that. So did my brothers.. most of them, anyway."

"And I was pushed to the side." Hiccup saw my frown and quickly added; "Not that I blame you for it. When my mom died I didn't have to deal with the impact as much; I was just a toddler at that point and I grew up only knowing a life with Stoick, unlike you."

"Do you consider me your friend?" I asked, kicking my legs.

Now it was Hiccup's turn to think. He put his hand on his chin and went into a brown study, other hand tapping a staccato drumbeat on the rock.

"Yes. I think - It's complicated. I used to be infatuated with you, you know?"

I knew it. Most boys were, or had been. Snotlout especially.

"Go on."

"Now.. now I'm not, really. I'm friends with you almost like we were as kids, you know, except we're older now, in a different setting and place and time, and sometimes I'm really not sure."

"A setting that wants to eat us," I said, but I was avoiding the point and I knew it.

"I'm rambling again, I should really stop now, I know I should, now that I've said what I wanted to say there's no point in me going on, but still I think I might've missed something -"

I cut him off. "It was a good talk. One that I won't regret."

"Thank you."

And then I went into another coughing fit and the moment was broken. Hiccup handed me an old rabbit skin that we used as a rag, into which I blew my nose. But my ears felt itchy, and I wished for some warm water so I could clean out the wax.

Supper took half an hour to cook, and I was hungry – we both were; so in the end Hiccup ended up taking it off the fire while it was still too rare and had to put it back on the spit again.

Hiccup divided it as usual. More for me, less for him. I told him he should eat more.

"I don't need the food as much as you do," he said, and I didn't bother to press the argument because I was tired and my appetite was still strong.

Still, we saved some for breakfast tomorrow, and I put it in the new larder on a stiff rabbit hide that we'd used for a waterskin until it had sprung a leak.

And after supper, when the wind had begun to fade and the sun was setting in the clear sky, we found ourselves gathering more firewood for the night and the day afterwards. Well, I was the one gathering firewood. Hiccup was busy making traps. When I was done with chores I asked him if I could help.

"Sure," he said. "They're not hard to create, unless you make a mistake, and then it's easy to get better with practice."

I knew how they worked, of course, and I knew how to place them, but it was a rare occasion when I'd sat down and helped in the production, really helped with a real trap instead of a snare. Making snares was simple. Every child knew how to do it.

It was simple enough; only a loop of cord attached to a counterweight and a support that would be pulled away when an animal bothered it, allowing the weight to fall and the unsuspecting rabbit to be caught by the neck, twisted up, dead.

There was less stress if it died quickly, I knew. Much more merciful than, say, a trap designed to capture, in which the anger and fear and pain would make the meat tough and inedible and there would be prolonged, drawn out suffering.

I made one myself, at the end. It was crude but workable, and Hiccup pronounced that I was good enough and would improve with time.

Then Hiccup sat in the corner trying to create a knife from flint, and succeeded, though he couldn't create a handle for it that would both fit and not turn the owner's hand into a collage of nicks. He'd try later, but now he busied himself making more arrows.

And now the sun was low to the horizon and orange light was creeping in, reflecting off of the snow, making the low hills blaze with color until dusk came and the disk of the sun sank away, to come back again in the west the next morning. And it was now, when all that had been said and done, that we found ourselves in the odd position of having little to do.

Not nothing, for I patched up the hole in the shelter that had woken me up in the morning, and we laid the two poles that we had formerly hung the meat on in a corner, away from the pile of firewood, just in case we would need them later, for a tent maybe, when we got enough skins.

"Moon's out tonight," remarked Hiccup. "It's nearly full."

"It's waxing," I said. "It wasn't this bright a few nights ago. You can barely see the stars like this."

Hiccup squinted, put a covering hand over his eyes to block out the brightness of the moon.

"I can't make out any of the constellations," he said. "Just speckles."

Indeed, the moon shone with a pale glow, illuminating the ground with a surreal, bluish-white gleam that had an ethereal quality to it.

"You wouldn't even need a torch to walk through the forest like this," I said. "It's lighter than dusk, and there's less shadows."

"And it's cold," said Hiccup, his breath coalescing into little puffs of mist. "Good thing we have a fire going."

"I'll take first watch," I said, even as I sniffled.

"Sure?"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Besides, I have a thief to shoot."

We sat there for a few minutes, admiring the landscape, and then Hiccup headed in to go to sleep. I also went into the shelter, but stayed awake, bow at hand and three arrows laid carefully on the ground, ready to be strung, silent.

Sooner or later the fox would come. I waited like that for a few hours, hearing the high, piercing howls of the wolf pack again, slightly closer this time, and it kept me awake, knowing that they were near.

Even then, I had almost drifted off when I heard a quiet rustling coming from the edge of the meadow, and at the corner of my vision, a black nose peeked out of the brush, followed shortly by a red, whiskered head. It looked around carefully, sniffing the air before trotting out into the moonlight, creeping along until it reached the dip of the streambed, into which it disappeared.

Mostly. I could see its red, fluffy tail poking up, flicking this way and that but coming closer until the fox abandoned the depression and stalked toward the camp, still oblivious to the fact that it was being watched.

My hands tightened around _Silencer,_ but it wasn't in range yet for a sure kill. One missed shot and it would be off like a red streak, and next time it would be more crafty and less sure of itself. Now, however, I did nothing to betray myself, and soon it had advanced to thirty yards. I reached for an arrow.

Twenty-five. I nocked the arrow, pulled back on the bowstring as slowly as I could.

The fox paused midstep, cocked an ear, as if it had heard something, and sniffed the air. I tensed, but it sensed nothing amiss, and headed straight towards where the meat had been hung before, anticipating that there would be some scraps there, but when it saw none it sniffed again and smelled the remains of the grouse that we'd put in the larder, changing course and trotting towards that instead.

Closer. Now it had come to twenty yards, displaying a tricky profile half masked by the shadow of a tree. Fifteen. I could see its pupils now, focused straight ahead and not on me, but still it was shrouded in darkness and I couldn't be sure of exactly where it was.

I raised my bow and again the fox paused, longer this time, tensed as if it was ready to spring away at any sign of trouble. Seeing nothing, it stepped into the light. A perfect target.

I pulled the string back almost to my nose, and the fox saw me, froze for half a second from the surprise of seeing an enemy it had expected to be asleep, then scrabbled for traction as it made a bid for the woods.

Too late. I had already released the arrow, and with a sharp whish it flew towards the fox so fast that I lost sight of the speeding thing. The bandit jumped and was hit, spun sideways by the impact, tried to bolt but tripped over itself, struggling for life.

"Gotcha!"

"Wha?" asked Hiccup, just rising from sleep, I thought, but there was no time to dwell on it. I fumbled for my knife, found it, and scrambled to my feet, anxious to not let it get away. Not that the fox had any chance. It was trying to drag itself forward with its front paws now, hopelessly fighting until the end.

And then I was there and I cut open the back of its neck, severing the spinal cord with a messy slice. It jerked and lay still. It wasn't a clean death and the meat would taste terrible, but then, I didn't like the taste of fox – although if things got bad enough I might be forced to eat it. What I was really interested in was the fur.

There was blood spattered all over the place, true, but the tail looked clean from what I could see, and so I'd still get a nice scarf out of it. Maybe the hide would even be worth the trouble of tanning, assuming I didn't ruin it in the attempt, since I didn't know how to do those things.

It was too late to try and skin it, so I put it next to the front door as a warning to any other varmints that had a mind to steal our food.

I cleaned my hands in snow, blew my nose, crawled into bed, and went to sleep.

* * *

The next day dawned clear, and I went outside and built up the fire before Hiccup came outside and started cooking the last of the grouse.

One thing I disliked about Hiccup was that he often slept in, but I couldn't blame him for it this time, since he'd taken the second, early morning watch.

Towards the end of the meal a shadow fell over the ground and the sky grew darker, and we looked up to see a band of wispy clouds floating by, followed by a few more.

"Looks like it'll be overcast tonight," remarked Hiccup. "We might get another snowstorm."

"Hopefully not. I've had enough of snow," I said, kicking at some of the white powder that covered the ground.

Breakfast was eaten well enough, and afterwards we headed out again to plant more traps. Not at the thicket, where the wolf might still be around, but at smaller warrens, in glades and small bits of brush at places that were easy to remember.

Still, there was nothing dangerous. We found a spot where the wolf had killed and eaten something, probably a bare-necked turkey or guinea fowl from all the feathers lying about, but the blood was old and dry and the tracks had been wiped out by wind, which meant that this had been at least two days ago.

We tramped through the woods a bit more, hunting, and presently heard the snorts and pungent smell of a small pack of wild pigs.

"Shh," I whispered to Hiccup. "Stay back. This could be a lucky break for us."

"This would be a good time for me to learn to use this spear so I can be more than dead weight."

"We can practice at camp," I said, perhaps too loudly, "I can handle this."

Hiccup shrugged. "Alright. You've done this before. Still, it might be a good idea to try and flush them out towards me so I can kill another."

"You getting in position might scare them away somewhere else," I said. "It's best to try when they don't know we're around."

And I went ahead through the brush, until I stood on a rocky outcropping that overlooked a small copse of brackle bushes, over which towered a stand of oak trees, the acorns of which the pigs were feeding on, hidden under the brambles.

Not the best shooting environment, sure, given that I couldn't see whether they were boars or sows most of the time, but with good lighting and skill I could make up for that.

I took aim at the largest one, nocked an arrow, pulled it back and… coughed, a long fit that made me lose sight of my mark and caused the hogs to look up at the sudden human that had appeared above them. Some fled to a safe distance, but the big one, the boar, grunted, turning to face me, long tusks and scarred hide showing his age.

I didn't want an old boar. Their meat tasted terrible. Another, possibly the boar's mate, had stuck around to see the action. There was still time to shoot her. My eyes were watery and I couldn't see very well, but I took aim and fired anyway.

And missed. From a distance of less than ten yards, where on a good day I should've scored every time. The arrow careened over the sow's back and was lost in the woods, probably buried under three feet of snow.  
The boar, deciding that he'd had enough of this, galloped away through the snow to rejoin the rest of his pack, which were lingering around about fifty yards away. I took a parting shot at them but only ended up wasting another arrow, and by the time I rejoined Hiccup I was empty-handed and in poor spirits.

Hiccup was smiling when he saw me, but it quickly faded into a frown. "Did you miss?"

"Yep."

"Difficult shot?"

"Nope. They were right there. Twenty feet away, at most. I had a coughing fit and that threw off my aim."

A pause. "How many?"

"A drove. About ten or fifteen of them."

Hiccup took in the news of my bad shot. "Well, we should chase them and not just stand around doing nothing."

He hoisted his spear.

"How soon can we catch up with them?"

"It wouldn't take too long, if we don't spook their leader. I think he thought I was more of a curiousity than anything, doubly so because I missed."

"If you'd had me there maybe I could've killed one," said Hiccup, which was as much of a reproach as he was going to give me.

"Yep." And that was all I was going to say about that. I didn't like dwelling on failures.

We went down to the place where they'd been. There was hog dung everywhere, of course, and it smelled terrible. I knew which direction they'd fled, and tracking their path after that was easy.

Catching up with them didn't take long, and soon we heard their snorts again. We paused just outside of sight to discuss our plan.

"This time," I said. "I'll wait for you to circle around, so when I scare them your way, you'll have to be ready. Don't alert them when you're going through the forest, be as quiet as possibly."

"This was my plan," he said. "I don't hold it against you but this was my plan."

"I'm just adapting it to the circumstances," I said, crouching behind a snowy knoll. "I've been hunting here before, and there's a little depression where the runoff feeds into the stream I'm sure they'll follow. Get ahead of them there."

"And if I don't make it to that spot before you start shooting?"

"You're out of luck," I said. "I'm giving you five minutes, starting now."

"Wait -"

"Go," I said, as quietly as I could while still making my point.

Hiccup had the good sense to scoot around the lee side of the knoll, keeping away from the sight of the drove, while I went forward, eventually coming so close that I had to crouch behind the remains of summer weeds to stay hidden. As I'd suspected they were under another stand of oak trees, busily eating the remnants of what had fallen in the autumn.

I counted off in my head until I was sure that it had been a good amount of time and then stood up, slowly, so as not to attract their gazes, strung an arrow and shot.

It wasn't a clean kill, but then again, I was slightly out of practice and my nose was running. The yearling hog, larger and less nimble than the fox, jerked when it was hit, stumbled, then fell, pierced slightly above the heart and losing blood like it was water, squealing.

I ran forward to finish it off, and at the sight of me charging out of the brush the rest of the herd panicked and ran down the length of the little valley just as I had expected them to, walled in by the slopes on either side. Fleeing from their hunter in the only way they knew how. Right into Hiccup's waiting spear.

There was a cry from far off and a wet crunch, then a snap as if something had been broken in half, then the sound of a hog in pain. Then I'd reached the yearling pig and killed it, the body spasming and scattering blood everywhere as the spine was cut. It didn't smell, metallic, like my iron blade, but rather stunk.

Gruesome work, but then, food was food. Hiccup emerged from behind a hillock, triumphantly holding up a sow by its rear hooves.

"Good job," I said, and Hiccup grinned.

"It wasn't hard. The pig ran right into me," he said. "Still, I think I'm going to need another spear."

He held up the old one, which had split in half, sharp splinters poking out haphazardly. The business end was buried in the chest of the sow.

"I'm lucky I didn't get spiked. Next time I'm going to use a thicker pole."

"Definitely."

"At least the head's intact," he said, tapping at the point where the flint had just come out of the side of the sow. "Getting it out is going to be difficult, but if I can't I know I have some extras back at camp. How many arrows did you use?"

"Three," I said. "Two earlier and one now. That leaves eleven, since you made some last night."

"I can make more. Anyway, I think this is going to be enough to feed us for a couple of days, at least. Once we get back to camp I want to make some improvements, make some jerky, maybe get to work on a smoking setup, make gloves, stuff like that."

"I have no idea how to sew and neither do you," I pointed out.

"Then it'll be a learning experience. We've got to learn sometime. And all of the pig fat will allow us to finally create some make-shift oilskins. I'm thinking we should use it on the fox hide first, just to prevent it from cracking, then the blankets and after that we might still have some left over."

"Where would we save the grease?" I asked, swinging back towards camp. Balancing the weight of the hog was harder than it looked, and I had to be careful not to trip.

Hiccup looked stumped for a second and would have put his hand to his chin if not for the heavy, smelly sow in his arms.

"Leave it in the pigs until we need it – although that solution would run the risk of the meat turning rancid that much faster.."

"It's the best solution we're going to get without any clay," I said. "Don't worry about it."

A coughing fit took me by surprise and I almost dropped the load.

Getting back to camp didn't take too long, thankfully, but when we got there we found a bad surprise.

The shelter had been overturned and the embers of the fire had been scattered across the snow, extinguishing them and leaving only ashes and wet charcoal turning the ice a sooty grey, and the wood pile had been knocked over.

I dropped the hog and rushed forward, Hiccup not far behind.

There were dragon tracks everywhere around the camp, tracks and a blue scale.

"Whelp," said Hiccup, master of the understatement. "Looks like we've been found." I shot him a glare and he backed off.

I felt like I was going to pull my hair out by the roots.

"And just when I thought that things were going better for us! That dumb! Stupid! Idiotic -"

"Uh.. should I be going now?" asked Hiccup, who was starting to sidle away.

" _One week! Not one week goes by in this place without a disaster!_ _ONE WEEK!_ _"_

If there had been pots to throw, I would've thrown them. As it was I settled for tossing firewood to vent my impotent rage.

"Astrid! Maybe you should.. I don't know – calm down! This is still salvageable!"

He winced at the sound of a particularly large branch being smashed against the remains of the fireplace. He was right. I should calm down. But not yet.

* * *

When Ocean had gone hunting one cold, crisp early afternoon, she hadn't expected to stumble right into the human's camp by complete accident; coming from upwind, she hadn't smelled any traces of either Viking or campfire until she was close enough to see it.

And once she got over the shock of the moment, of seeing the camp, she checked to see if there was anyone home, and when there wasn't her curiousity overtook her and she began to explore. There were two squat little huts sitting in the snow, which she sniffed at, finding the scent of both two-legs and meat there.

A dead fox lay on the snow, and she stepped closer to investigate, but put her foot in the fire. It didn't hurt, but it surprised her, and she stumbled, accidentally knocking over one of the huts and partially crushing the other.

She jumped back. _Uh-oh._

Something told her she didn't want to be too close when the builders of this place came back. Besides, it would be interesting to see the sparks fly. Because she'd just found her new source of entertainment.

* * *

It took me an hour to settle down from my initial reaction to seeing half of camp completely destroyed. It took another two to fix the damage caused by the marauding dragon and about fifteen minutes to fix the damage caused by myself.

Damn. We'd been discovered. Found. Whatever. Hiccup seemed to be convinced – in his oddly Hiccup manner of thinking about things – that this was a special dragon, a good dragon, a dragon which wouldn't kill us on sight or perhaps would leave us alone; if we didn't bother it, it wouldn't bother us. He may be smart, but sometimes he's an overoptimistic idiot with his head stuck in the sand for all the good his brains do him.

As far as I was concerned the idea of non-hostile dragons was a load of bunk, never mind how the Nadder hadn't killed us in the cave. Maybe it'd been sick or something. Maybe it was out of its right mind, and if it was that made it half as predictable and twice as dangerous – if dragons even had a state of right mind.

We might have to move to get away from this mess, lose our pursuers again. For a few days I'd harbored a foolish hope that maybe life would leave us alone. And then we'd heard the howls and seen the tracks and all of that hope had been unfounded, which was a grim reminder that we couldn't just put our troubles away, because they'd always come back to bite us.

Until we killed them.

I didn't know how to go about killing a dragon when the weapons at my disposal amounted to no more than a bow, a spear, a knife and blind luck, but there had to be some way to do it.

And then there was the wolf problem, which depending on the circumstances might be even more dangerous than the dragon problem, or in league with the dragon, in which case we would very shortly be dead, what with two of those enemies out for our blood on principle.

And when, early in the evening, when I heard the baying of the pack nearby and coming closer, I dared them to come, never mind my sickness.

They entered the glade one by one, arrayed behind us and ahead of us and all around us to prevent any escape like there had been an escape like the last time.

It was a dog fight. One on one, until they tired of the sport and killed us.

Their leader stepped into the newly created ring, a powerful looking grey, but I saw that he limped as if his leg was broken or had been shot, by me. Well, if he wanted more I would be happy to give it to him. He radiated a kind of power, but not the raw, sure, visceral and yet noble kind of power their old leader had, instead merely an angry sort of leadership.

Then another stepped forward, and another, all baring their teeth at me. They recognized me. For a moment I felt scared, intimidated. Then I remembered that I was a Hofferson, and I was supposed to be fearless.

Hiccup groaned. "Oh the Gods hate me,"

The wolf sprang.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Aside from the many, many, MANY cliches that were just used** **and the cliffhanger I just left you on** **,** **I personally think this was an awesome chapter. Do you? Coming down off of the high that comes from writing an update that's 10K plus usually takes a little while, and I'm still peaked.**

 **I'm also going to have to parse this for the many many many errors that come from writing an update that's 10,000 plus. 11,000, actually.**

 **I also loved writing this. I planned almost every sentence of it** **and I think that while it's not as good as it could've been had I been willing to invest another month of time and pretend like nothing happened and I didn't just write the best, most fulfillin** **g chapter in my own history** **in little more than a week, I'm not going to do that to you guys.**

 **Bragging aside – was it bragging? Please tell me – bragging aside, please remember that I love it when you leave reviews for me with constructive criticism.** **What did I do right? What did I do wrong? Are there any improvements that can be made? What did** _ **you**_ **think?**

 **I always reply to any reviews that I can, even guest reviews – once again, thank you Kirika, whoever you are.**

 **It only takes thirty seconds to write something, anything, even if it's a flame.** **And if you're more invested in the story you can leave a longer one or connect with me on Discord** **by sending me a few PMs.**

 **Remember, the review box is down below and I appreciate it greatly.**

 **Cheers! Blackberry Avar.**

 **Written: April 10** **th** **– April 19** **th** **.**

 **Published:** **April 20** **th** **.**

 **Changelog:** **Forgot to do the dividers. Again.**


	25. Apex

**AN:**

 **Wow. It has been a long, _long_ time since I published the last chapter. Sorry 'bout that. Wings of Fire stuff happened, and Trust is Earned happened, and a road trip happened… I'd better quit with the excuses.**

 **But a lot of road trips happened. Now that school's in, I'll have time to think about what I'd rather be doing instead of what I'm actually doing, so my productivity will actually increase.**

 **Today's riddle is:**

' **If you break me I do not stop working,  
If you touch me I may be snared,  
If you lose me nothing will matter.  
What am I?'**

 **The answer to last chapter's riddle is a candle. Looks like DRF beat the Last Cookie to the victory cookie.**

 **(||)**

 **Nah, that looks more like a bun.**

 **(::)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Written: April 25th, 2019 – September 14th, 2019.**

 **Edited: September 14th - 20th.**

 **Published: September 20th, 2019.**

 **Changelog:**

* * *

The wolf leaped for Hiccup first, lunging at his neck. I saw the beast floating through the air as if in slow motion, aiming my bow even though I knew no shot could save him.

A memory came unbidden.

 _Standing_ _by the storm lantern_ _, reaching for Hiccup as_ _he was swept away by the_ _raging_ _sea_ _._

"Hiccup!"

Then he yelled, stabbed forward with the spearhead, the wolf trying to turn away but not fast enough.

The jagged flint tore a rent in the wolf's side, the force of the impact wrenching the shaft out of Hiccup's hands, the wolf's landing throwing up a plume of snow, its paws scrabbling for traction. As good a target as I was going to get.

The bowstring stood taught and I fired, the sinew tearing at my fingers as the arrow whistled away, sunk into the shoulder of the gray leader.

What I would give for a kill shot.

I heard barking behind me, spun around just in time to see a black wolf leaping for my back.

I threw myself to the ground and kicked upwards, heard a crunch as my heavy boot hit it in the guts, the wolf barking in pain as it fell to the cold ground.

I reached for my knife, pulled it out of my belt.

The wolf rolled to its feet and charged.

I sidestepped. Out flashed my knife, the blade finding its throat and slicing, the hit almost knocking the handle out of my hands.

But it was enough. The black tried to roar; nothing came out but a gurgle, red blood staining its fur almost brown.

"Look out!" cried Hiccup.

Something tackled me from behind and bowled me over. I landed almost on top of my bow, twisted with the knife in hand to slash at my attacker before it ripped open my shoulders.

That would leave a bruise.

Then I saw Hiccup's boots, a yell as he stabbed at the animal on my back.

It leapt off of me, sprung at Hiccup and landed on his chest.

I scrambled toward the leader, aimed for the spine.

The blade went deep, but not deep enough, the animal lunging away at the pain.

It was all I could do to keep my weapon in hand.

"You alright?" I asked, pulling Hiccup to his feet.

"I'm fine! The wolves!"

The pack had closed the gap, advancing at a lazy lope, barking like mad.

They had us cornered and they knew it.

"Get to the shelter! Protect your back!"

 _Running through the forest,_ _the beasts nipping at_ _our_ _heels._

It felt too much like a rout.

"Astrid!"

No time for memories.

I shot another arrow at them, hoping it would buy us time, bumped against the shelter wall.

Onward came the wolves, amber eyes fixed upon us as they bounded through the snow.

Fixed upon me.

Two went for Hiccup, three leaped for me. Again with the knife – one of them reared with the blade driven into its chest to the hilt – but I had lost my weapon and they pounced.

I tumbled into the shelter, heard the crack of a breaking bone, noted dimly the pain lancing through my arm.

One of the wolves jumped and landed on my chest.

 _Crunch._

Another came, jowls set and teeth bared with anger. Anger and pain and hate.

It was the grey, arrow still sticking out of his shoulder, a stream of blood running down his dragging foreleg.

He raised his other paw, razor claws backlit by the light of the waning fire.

I tried to kick but another wolf was holding down my legs.

 _This is it,_ I thought.

I saw Hiccup in the corner of my eye, pinned to the ground, eyes pleading.

I punched at the wolf with my good fist, brushed his nose.

 _Defiant to the end._

The grey trembled with rage.

"Hiccup! It's been a good run."

And all he could do was nod.

A roar rang out, deep and wild.

Down came the claws.

I closed my eyes.

 _S_ earing pain tore through the meat of my shoulder blade, scored my flesh almost to the collarbone and lanced across my neck, freezing and hot and burning all at the same time, fiery blood welling into the wound as if it were ablaze.

 _Is this what dying feels like?_

 _No!_

I looked down, saw my lifeblood dripping onto the snow.

Another roar sang out, throaty and loud.

Closer this time.

The wolves had paused.

A heavy thump came and the ground buckled, the shelter rattled and the pack jumped, a spray of snow thrown into the air by a blur.

Barks filled the air; the gray turned his head to see what was going on. Would that I could've seen what was happening then. Another roar, what sounded like pain, then a _whoosh_ , like the sound of a waterfall, and brightness backlit the gray.

Something yelped; there was the dry smell of char, the wet damp of melted snow, but above all, the grimy scent of Nadder fire.

Couldn't be.

Saved from wolves, about to die by dragon.

 _What a way to go._

The pack parted now; running for the safety of the woods. An enemy had come who was stronger than they; it would kill them and they knew it.

The grey looked at the dragon who I still could not see, back at me.

No ceremony this time, no paw raised high. He would slit my throat.

And then the dragon came up behind him and smacked him away with a wingbeat.

The tip caught me and knocked me away into the snow, ice hitting the open wound, searing my flesh a frigid burn.

The wolf tried to run, but the arrow had dug too deep, he had lost too much blood, and he stumbled, checked himself before the fall.

He might still make it to the brush -

A volley of spines smashed into his side and he staggered, dragging himself along on two good legs.

But it was not to be.

The dragon dashed over to him – there was a burst of flame, so bright my eyes scrunched, and then the smell of melting snow and burnt hair.

Of the wolf there was nothing left but a charred corpse.

For him, the fight was over. Would that I might be so lucky.

My arm hung limp at my side, broken and prickling, my heart still pumping blood to the internal bleeding. That should probably be fixed, came a thought, but oddly distant; here I was, laid out on the snow, bleeding out in a pool like I had made wolves bleed, only this time it was I who might die.

Might.

My knife was embedded in a wolf's chest to the hilt, not a dozen yards away, but it might as well have been a dozen miles. If I could reach it, I might be able to cut out a piece of my clothing, make a wrap to stop the blood flow.

I looked up from the snow, saw a body lying prone on it, still wearing that green vest.

"Hiccup, you'd better not have gone and died on me."

Slowly he rose to his feet, pushing himself up by his hands, wincing with the cold, but frostbite was the least of our problems, for now, and that wasn't much comfort. If he didn't get warmth in thirty minutes, he'd lose his fingers.

"You too," he said. "It's you who's in danger of dying." He clutched his side, as if he had a cracked rib or two, and his breath was sharp when he talked. "I'll be just fine."

This despite the dark bruises on his white face, torn clothing and obvious limp.

"No, you won't."

"The first time I end up not being the worst hurt out of the two of us, you get a life-threatening injury. Just my luck," he said, half-walking, half-hobbling towards me on feet burned by the snow, though he was wearing shoes. "Save your energy."

"Cloth. I need cloth," and I raised my head.

The world spun and I let it fall.

It took a moment for him to see the knife, half a minute to get it, fifteen seconds to cut away a strip of his trouser leg, an eternity for him to wrap it around my shoulder, the wound still stinging. Yet the cold would prevent it from swelling and giving me a fever. For that, at least, I could be grateful.

"Oh, I never handled this," he said. "Think you can be moved?"

"No reason to. Thrice-damned dragon knocked over the fire-pit and the tinder's gone."

"There's wood there, and some of it was spared the moisture," he said.

"And the fire's just close enough to throw sparks on me when it pops but too far away to provide any meaningful heat, if you manage to light it at all. Wonderful."

"Nothing like dry wit to counter the wetness of the snow. Shelter's wrecked, but I can scrape the ice off some stiff-as-a-board blankets."

"Thanks. Really."

"How's the blood loss?" came my words. A trickle of blood leaked into my mouth from a cut on my cheek, and I let it pool there for a moment before I spit it out.

"Better than it was before," said Hiccup, which was what a Viking said when he meant 'still bad'.

My fingers felt numb, and my palms burned with the cold. Standing the cold was one thing, frostbite was another. Hiccup might end up cutting off pieces of my limbs, if they didn't get any warmth soon.

"Can you get a fire going?"

"The bandage might hold, it might not," said Hiccup, which was positive speak for 'it's frozen to the wound and probably isn't going anywhere'.

"And the dragon?"

"Uhhh… do you need to know?"

My ears heard thumps, closer every time. Looking over, my eyes latched on the Nadder, walking towards us, its eyes glinting, breath billowing and tail slithering along behind it, poised in the perfect way to let fly its deadly quills.

"I know now!"

And Hiccup did the first thing he could think of. He stood up and hummed, an unfamiliar, soothing tune, and the dragon stopped in front of me, looked from him to me, itself and back, then chimed in with its own low, rumbling tones.

It bent low, giant head close enough so that its breath ruffled my hair, curved, pointed horn wider than my arm – close enough to slap, came a thought, unbidden but welcome. Close enough to touch. A musty warmth washed over my face from its exhale, though it hummed. All the world there was to be seen centered upon a single thing; the dragon, tall enough to put its head through a second-floor window, if it so chose, and yet low enough that it brushed the ground.

It stopped humming, chirped and cocked its head inquisitively, looking at me, seeing what had changed since the last time it had seen me. Intelligence lay behind that gaze. It sniffed, must have smelled the iron tang of my blood, weakness.

A moment passed and nothing happened, no sound coming from it, perhaps as if to say _there is no danger._

Its silence gave me courage. "Go on, shoo, you big baby."

And Hiccup laughed.

* * *

After that, there was nothing to do but pick up the pieces and start anew. Hiccup carried in fresh firewood, looked at the broken fire-pit with more than a little resignation, started piecing it back together.

When he had, he put dead branches in it, breaking off twigs and putting them into their own pile, breaking them open to expose the wood inside.

"I can help you with that," came my words, but he shook his head.

"Wouldn't want you to die from overexertion. You're getting too much of my luck," he said, and shot a glance at the culprit. "Looks like she's burying the wolves."

"It, not she."

But the dragon was digging holes in the ground; a mound already lay where once there had been a dead wolf, the snow tinted watery pink.

And the biggest question in my mind was: _why?_ Why come back? It made no sense to me, and yet – it was so familiar. The dragon stopped digging, cocked its head at the ground, doing nothing, as if thinking. But beasts didn't think, didn't know the world in the same way a person like me would perceive it – a human.

Then there was my realization, that my thinking contradicted itself. If dragons did not think, they could not scheme, yet my mind had always allowed that they had a kind of contemplative ability that allowed them to plot the downfall of men.

Which was right?

If wolves could think, and hold grudges, why should a dragon, vastly superior in body if not mind, not be able to? What sense or emotion did it hold, to not attack us on sight as it should have – or even to protect us, as it had?

"Well, it's leaving us alone," came my words, and after that, a cough.

And in an instant, Hiccup was there. "Sickness plus a broken rib," he muttered. "Fun. No blood in the lungs?"

"I'd be blowing bubbles if there was."

Hiccup gave me an odd look.

"Reminds me of when I was the one hurt, laying on the floor of Gothi's hut. When I woke up in the dragon's den after the fight, I thought I was there. Funny, I thought, that Gothi had her house renovated to stone."

A laugh came, then decided it was going to be a sneeze instead. "Well, at least we don't have to worry about wound fever, for the cold."

"Hey dragon, think you could give us a little help over here?" shouted Hiccup. "This fire isn't gonna light itself!"

Another chuckle from me. This time it ended up as a half-cough. "Stop stealing my courage."

"I'm not stealing," said Hiccup. "Call it becoming inspired."

The Nadder cocked its head when Hiccup shouted, _shrugged_ , and went back to digging holes.

"Figures it couldn't understand me," said Hiccup, and his teeth chattered.

"What did you expect? For it to follow your every beck and call?"

"Just pushing today's good luck," he said, and scraped bark strips with the knife, for tinder. "For want of dry wood, the fire was lost. How did it go after that?"

"For want of a fire, my fingers were lost," and then came a cough.

"That's… unpleasant," he said. He pared the slices until they were thin enough to be called fluff, then rolled them into a ball and set them down on a stone. "Now, where'd I leave that flint?"

"Use an arrowhead," came my words, urgent, now that my arms had begun to lose their feeling. And if it was this bad for me, who was underneath a blanket and sheltered from the wind, how was it for Hiccup?

"I'm not squeamish," said Hiccup, before anything could be said about him being squeamish. He found one of the unburied wolves, yanked out his spear, wiped it off while looking away. "That'll do," he said, struck the knife against the flint. It made clicked and sparks flew, some landing in the ball. Bits of smoke rose from it, and Hiccup brought it up in his hands, cupped them and blew gently, for if he made the breeze too strong he would blow out the little piece of warmth.

Glowering bits of bark fell on fingers, sizzled, and burned out, his hands too cold to notice the charred ember on his skin.

A tiny flame appeared out of its burrow, flickered, almost died away, then regained strength, Hiccup coaxing it with steady breaths. "C'mon," he said, almost fumbled the bundle, regained control of it at the last second.

A few more seconds, his hands shivering, and he made a pile of wooden splinters, rested the little ball on them, used his arm to shelter it from the wind while he gathered up some twigs from where he had set them, looking wistfully at the dragon all the while.

"Maybe if we get a fire started..." he began, then went into a chattering fit.

Twig by twig, layer by layer, the little flame grew and was coaxed, until it began to crackle like a real fire, though it put out none of the warmth. Hiccup nodded at the fire-pit, where he had piled up the deadwood.

"Sh-should I?" he asked.

"It's going to grow if you do," came my words. The fire was already almost too large for Hiccup to carry in both hands, and even now it would burn him. There was a limit to how large it could grow, perched on a rock like that, and not sheltered from the wind by anything except Hiccup's arm. If not for the trees acting as a windbreak, it would be dead by now.

Hiccup knew it.

He picked up the bundle in his hands, expecting to wince from the pain, must have noticed that it was only a dull burn instead of the sharp one he'd expect, like the one he'd get if he stepped on a hot coal wearing nothing but socks. So he let it sit in his hands for a while, waiting until it started to sting, and then, gritting his teeth, put the fire in with the deadwood, almost beneath my sight.

The flames died away, beneath my vision, and he leaned forward, blew, harder this time, but still softly compared to what he could have done. Again sprung the flame, casting a brighter glow upon the stones of the fire pit. A whisper of warmth touched my brow, so soft that it might have been imagined.

The crunching of snow. Heavy footsteps approached, though Hiccup was so absorbed in the precious fire he failed to notice them. Then a shadow fell over the fire, and it flickered from a sudden, unnatural wind.

Fear fell by the wayside, and was turned to disdain.

"I told you to shoo," were my words, aimed at the dragon, who was casting its gaze at the fire. Somehow, now that it was not fighting, it seemed almost normal for it to be standing there, so many times had we met it before.

There were still a dozen ways it could kill me, my mind reminded itself. Still a dozen ways it could rip to me to shreds, and blast my remains into so many little bits of char. But it thought and was intelligent, and now, perhaps, it held the emotion of remorse, or pity or hate, though there was no way to tell it from the way its snout huffed, or its lizard-like face held.

And myself, to be pitied. My mind focused on the thought, focused its anger at it, felt the blood running through my veins grow a little warmer.

"Come over and sit, will you," said Hiccup. "Maybe you can make yourself useful, shelter us against the wind, if you're not going to light a fire for us."

It did and it didn't. It sat on its belly next to me, spread its wings and shook them out. Hiccup put out an arm in front of the fire when it did that, to keep it from being blown out. The tinder was scattered, but the blaze had caught, and Hiccup breathed a sigh when it kept its hold.

The dragon's wings reflected some of the heat from the fire, and its scales seemed to be naturally warm, put out a faint bit of glowing warmth that worked against the cold air lying blanketed above the snow.

"If we get home -" said Hiccup, "no, when we get home, we're never telling anyone about this."

"Hiccup the dragon-tamer," came my words. "It'd be a stir."

Hiccup pursed his lips. "I'd like it to be our secret. Astrid, the dragon-speaker, who bravely tells Nadders to shoo."

He was right.

And yet, there were mixed feelings. Was it treason, to not kill dragons on sight? The old me would have said yes. Now, it was undecided.

A punch at him with my left arm, though it missed. "That's for doubting my word."

"So you won't?"

"Wouldn't be like me, to go and stab you in the back like that, after all we've been through."

And Hiccup took in the scene; the snow-covered woods, pristine as the moon, and white; a glimmer of blue in the cloudy sky; the fire, crackling, warm sparks wandering through the air until they went out; myself, and above me the dragon, at peace. "Sure have been," he said. "Sure will be."

* * *

Ice, and cold, and more cold, and more ice. The biting chill was gone, though she feared it would return, but alive she was and alive she would be. Of fish there were a few, and of gulls there were a few more, and that was enough to satiate her, if she didn't move very much, and kept to her cave most of the day and all of the night.

Every dragon goes through hardship, some more than most, and now, she thought, she had gone through more than everybody sane, and she had aged, begun thinking more about things that seemed boring in her childhood and still boring in her adolescence, though she was still young. Those things were in the future.

How long it'd take her to get well again. How she'd get off this rock, and where she'd go afterwards. Where her friends might have gone – for still she missed them, and had loyalty to them, even if it meant coming out here and eking out an existence just to look for them.

Then, she thought, she had only been here for a few days, and was getting better, and so that was nothing. She wondered if Stulte had had to go through this, or Ocean. Where were they?

That was something to be found out, Nayla decided, as soon as the wind stopped howling in the cracks and her wings didn't freeze when she went outside. Tomorrow she might go south, find some warmth, and more islands, then head towards the rising sun, and north when the first signs of spring came.

It was a long way, but she knew she would find them, with luck on her side and fire in her breath. How could she not?

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Many thanks to** **Dragonrider's Fury, whose** **enthusiasm** **cheered me on** **during** **the slow days** **and kept me going** **when I felt tempted to** **throw in the tow** **el.** **Credit also** **goes to LiterallyHasNoIdeasForAnOKName, w** **ho** **helped me with the little things,** **brainstormed with me** **on many things** **,** **and inspired me to plan out th** **is chapter which you have now read.**

 **And, of course, to** **those others who** **stuck with this story through its** **more than** **year of existence – that's right – this story is a year old,** **which is hard to believe.** **You who** **left your reviews** **and read these virtual pages, Thank You.**


	26. Arc of Time

**AN:**

 **Dragonrider's Fury got it right: it was a heart.**

 **Enjoy your victory cookie!**

 **(::) - There shalt be no buns this time.**

 **I have fixed the editor lag issues. It was Grammarly.**

 **Today's riddle:**

 **"What falls and rises but never moves?"**

 **Written: September 1st - October 12th, 2019. Published October 20th, 2019.**

* * *

When we had become so friendly with it – Hiccup insisted on calling it a her – neither of us could say. At first it was slow, the dragon only hanging about every few days, perhaps sensing it had overstayed its welcome, with its better-than-animal intelligence. But then it came more often, visited longer, and observed us.

My ribs still ached then, and there was little question of my getting up for another few weeks – and all the while my strength diminished. But while it did, Hiccup's grew. By some miracle, perhaps due to our prayer, perhaps due to dumb luck, the bow had survived, though it needed a thorough drying before it could be useful. And Hiccup made arrows, and he went hunting.

"Well, someone has to provide for the both of us," he said, and he went and did it, and for the first day shot next to nothing, our only food coming from the traps.

And then a strange thing happened.

The dragon went along with him, and he began to bring back more.

"Awful handy thing a dragon is," he said once, by the campfire while a turkey was spitroasting. A pity we didn't have any pots – perhaps those could be gotten from the old camp. "Awful handy thing a dragon is, when the air is frigid and there's no warmth around but scale. And she doesn't stomp around either, scaring away all the game – she knows when to move in the shadows, when to make noise, and she's got a nose better than a hunting dog. I turn my head and she's gone, and when I follow her tracks she's made a kill on a pronghorn or something. Then I ask for a haunch and she eats it all in one bite. Sometimes, when the brush is too dense for her, she'll go around and make noise and flush the game right into my bow – your bow – right into my spear. I call it a Good Thing."

"Well, my cold's gone, at least," came my words, making small talk.

"I was worried you were going to get pneumonia, or hacking cough, or wasting disease and whatnot."

"I'm not going to get wasting disease. You might get wasting disease, for hanging around with a dragon, but I won't."

And Hiccup shrugged. "They're majestic beasts. Makes me feel small, just standing next to one. You can't hate a dragon for saving your life, or for fighting, like a viking does, for whatever she believes in. You could fault her, sure, but you'd have to be backwards to hate her."

"And the war at home?"

"I'm happy to be around a special case."

Time flowed like water, leaving little ripples of events in its wake. Slowly my wound healed, and slowly my body felt better, until there came a day when it was possible to move without too much pain, and then to walk around the camp, where Hiccup had painstakingly scraped away the snow, though the wear of my boots was beginning to show through.

"What are you making?" was my question one evening by the fire, when Hiccup was planing a piece of greenwood on a rock.

"Shoe soles," he said. "They'll be stiff, but I'll put some animal hide over 'em. Here – can I see your right foot?"

"You're not making shoes for you first?"

He thought a moment, rubbed his chin. "That'll come later, I think. I can do with what I have."

And he took a snow print, and he ground the wood down to size, little by little, until it resembled something like a sole, and then he ground a slot in the bottom of it, made another sole for my left foot.

And when he was done with those, he took some animal hide and wrapped it around the sole, making sure some fell into the groove and fit tight, and the fur on top of the sole pointed outwards. Using the tip of the knife, he took a piece of bone and pierced it, making a needle with an eyelet, then cut strips of hide, and fed them in. That was his thread.

"I don't think this is how shoes are made," he said. "Giving it my best shot."

"You're not supposed to wrap the sole completely in hide," came my words.

"I don't have any nails to attach the… what's the word again?"

"The sole to the sole?"

Hiccup wrinkled his nose. "That's about it."

And we laughed.

Nails were precious. When a house burned down, back home, children would pick through the wreckage to find the fasteners used when the house was built. One of Torenn's favorite things to do, way back when.

"You're making a boot, right?"

"If I can. If I can't, you're getting a new pair of moccasins," he said, then admitted, "I don't know how to make the back of the shoe stand up so the snow doesn't fall in."

"I'll have to make myself a new pair of socks, one of these days."

"I could do that for you," he said.

"It's a new skill. Something to do."

"Alright. Maybe when I'm done with this knife, but I'm not much of a teacher."

"Then I'll teach myself."

Hiccup measured his leg, cut a piece of hide and began to sew it onto the sole. "Too large," he muttered, and cut it down. "At least it's not too small."

"Then you would've wasted it."

"Yeah," he said, and a moment later, "Ow!"

For he had poked himself with the needle.

"Sharper than I thought it'd be, and I don't have a thimble."

"You should make one."

"And jab my finger into another bone. No thanks."

"I'll help," came my words.

"Alright," said Hiccup. "I've got the top of the boot cut, and threaded into the sole by half. I suppose you could finish the job, while I get some wood."

And he looked at camp, face half-lit by the firelight.

"I think we'll have to have that hole in the shelter fixed up," he said, by which he meant the gaping rent that had been barely patched by some pine boughs, of which we were running out. "Tomorrow, when the light's better."

"And you're right. That patch looks like it's going to let in snow, let alone cold air," came my words. "At least there are no wolves to worry about."

And that was good.

"Unless the pack has angry cousins or something," said Hiccup, and we chuckled. "Kinda like Snotlout, at Berk. Bet he'll be surprised to see me when I get back."

When, not if. Had to keep upbeat.

Hiccup handed me the unfinished boot, the needle and hide.

"Are you going to make straps?"

He thought. "I wouldn't like to cut all the hide for shoestrings, if we have enough for it, anyway."

"So straps."

"I think so."

"Ow."

"It does hurt before you get used to it."

My hand wrung itself almost of its own accord, and a little droplet of my blood spattered onto the snow.

"We're making a thimble, Hiccup."

"Okay, okay, okay," he said. "Before I feed the fire, or after?"

Well, the needle could be put up with for a little longer. "After."

And he finished, and he made the thimble, and it wasn't much matter that he was doing the work, because my hands were busy sewing together the boot, though my stitches didn't look nearly as nice as his did.

"Thanks."

Hiccup shrugged. "No problem."

And that was what was likable about him; he was generous enough that it was hard not to like him, once he really knew me. Generous and humble, though he covered it up with sarcasm. What was his true sense of self-worth?

"You remind me of Torenn now," came my words.

"Who did I used to remind you of?" he said, then grunted, trying to carry some deadwood without letting any of it touch the snow.

A midget – but that wasn't kind to say. "Who, I have no idea."

Hiccup knew the implications. He grinned. "Guess nobody had my special talents."

"Yes. For getting hung up on trees."

"And smithing. Gobber taught me a little."

"Had to be more than a little."

Hiccup put a branch into the fire, pulling away his fingers just before they would have been burned by the crackling flames. Sparks went up, hanging in the air and basking in their moment of glory before the cold air put them out and they became specks of soot.

"Guess he did teach me a lot," he said, and then he puffed his chest up and imitated Gobber's voice. "I believe in learning on the job!" though it came out less gruff than Gobber really would have been, pounding away at his forge.

"Crazy old man."

"Well, he was my crazy old man."

It took me a moment to see the depth of it, another to see what was behind even that.

"You had to have done something with your father," came my words, then the realization that they sounded wrong. The stitches of my new boot suddenly looked much more interesting.

"I did a lot with Gobber," said Hiccup, trying to put the conversation back on track. "Learned how to use a hammer, and a grinder, and a dozen other things. I made a new grinder for him, a few years back. I'd work the pedals and the stone would spin and then I could sharpen edges, instead of having to plane the metal over the stone. Gobber – Gobber loved it, even though the pedals stuck sometimes.."

He tossed in the rest of the wood, didn't bother to arrange it like he had with the first piece.

"I'm making a new one when I get home."

When.

My fingers threaded another stitch in the boot.

"I do have one regret," came my words, suddenly. "I didn't get to kill the gray."

"Maybe you wouldn't have gotten to," said Hiccup, "if someone else hadn't, and then the chance was gone."

And then my body would have gone out of the world as possessionless as it had entered it. My whole life, all these things which lay around me, and none of them would come with, unless Hiccup gave me a proper funeral pyre.

"They've probably burned all my things, back home."

"And mine too," said Hiccup. "Too bad. I had plans for a bola-thrower in Gobber's shop. Maybe they won't find those things, when they're looking for stuff to burn, and get rid of."

"Get rid of? It's for your memory, for the afterlife."

"Except I am neither a memory nor in the afterlife. Maybe they won't even bother, for me. Won't make the effort."

"Gobber would."

"He's one man."

"I would."

"Well, that's better. Don't die, or -"

"Or I'll follow you so I can kill you myself," came my words, finishing his sentence.

"Those weren't exactly the words I was looking for," he said. "I was thinking 'don't die, or I'll have to tell your family what happened'. Do you need me to sew for you?"

"I'm fine, thanks." This was something useful to be done, while my ribs healed. By using my time for a project, it gave Hiccup more time to spend on another.

"Don't die, or I'll have to tell your family. Your father is an imposing man. Haldric, is he?"

"Yeah. That's him. He's a good father."

"Lucky you," said Hiccup. "Lucky you."

Quiet. We had both eaten, and were full. It felt good to sit back on nights like this and work on something small, the boots, or, if everything in the camp was particularly in order, talk and nothing else. The storehouse had food in it and the shelter was mostly patched, and tonight was a warm night, for it was cloudy. No one knew why it was warm when it was cloudy, but it was fortunate.

Sometimes, on nights when my eyes were sharp enough, the air clear enough and the clouds near enough to the ground, a little flicker of orange light could be seen in the sky, a false sunrise created only by the glow of the fire.

Tonight was one of those nights.

"I'm looking back on what we've done," said Hiccup suddenly, "and I'm wondering… what did we learn from all this?"

"Our journey's not over yet," came my words. "There's still a way to go. It's still winter."

"Just.. with the benefit of hindsight… what did we gain from this?"

"Scars. Experience."

"Pain," said Hiccup, and he rolled his eyes. "Love it. But… moving on… I learned to work with you, in a good way. We help each other along. There are a lot of things I never could have done without you… is that the way you feel?"

My hands fiddled with my knife, thinking about it, everything we'd gone through.. weighing the odds. "Yes. It's a long road. But I learned to trust you, to keep my back. Even when I was battling that dragon and you got knocked out in the first few seconds of the fight."

"Even then. Yeah."

"When you pulled me to the beach after I jumped into the sea to rescue you. I needed your help as much as you needed mine."

"Old Astrid would never have admitted that."

"I said nothing."

Hiccup smiled.

"We're more mature than we used to be."

"Great," said Hiccup. "More expectations."

At least he was happy enough to be sarcastic. He'd seemed downcast, talking about fathers. Or maybe it was a front he was putting on, to cover up his hurt. That didn't sit right with me.

"You still have your biting wit," came my words. "Feeling alright?"

"Yeah. Glad to see I didn't lose it."

"Some things don't change."

"Did you ever picture yourself doing something like this when you were a kid?"

"No. I thought I'd be getting engaged by now."

Hiccup put a hand under his chin. "I'm surprised. I thought you grew up already wanting to be a shieldmaiden."

"I didn't. I didn't expect to go down that path when I was, say, five. I certainly didn't expect to end up stranded on an island with only you for company. I _certainly_ never expected to be saved by a dragon."

"Life has a habit of throwing a chock into the wheels."

"S'pose so. It's still hard to swallow… that a good dragon exists. Half of me still looks over my shoulder even when it's not around, just in case it decides we'd make a tasty snack."

"She. Just in case she decides we'd make a tasty snack."

"I would rather that it be another Nadder than a she. That makes it seem like it's a person."

"I just get that feeling from her – it."

"Have it your way."

"I hum to her. I think she deserves to be acknowledged. Hey - do you think there are any other good dragons?"

"I wouldn't count on it – there are the dragon raids back at home. They're not going to stop."

"Maybe they will. I didn't expect to be saved by the dragon either. I was so scared she might decide to kill us when we were in that cave, and it didn't. Then I thought that would be the only mercy it would give us."

"I was thinking that it might've poisoned us while we were sleeping and waited for us to die so that it would be spared the bother of fighting us again," came my words.

"That makes no sense."

"The dragon was acting irrationally, I was planning, just in case."

"Irrationally from your point of view. Perhaps there are some dragons good at heart," said Hiccup.

"You're being ridiculous. You can't judge an entire kind by the actions of one. It's an outlier."

"She's an outlier."

"Berk has had raids for longer than living memory. It's just one dragon – one dragon who happens to be helpful, but one dragon. Trusting in lizards might get you killed."

"I'm not trusting in them in general. And besides," he said, running his hand through his hair, "they can't be all bad. They've killed hundreds of us, yes, but we've killed thousands of them. It doesn't matter who started it – just that we Vikings think it's a war that has to be fought to the finish. Some of them have to feel like we do."

"Dragons don't think like that."

"We thought that wolves didn't think, didn't want revenge. Look how that turned out."

"Yeah. Don't rub it in."

"I wouldn't. So not all dragons are bad. But most of them aren't good."

"Most of them like stealing sheep," was my point. "And destroying villages. And killing people."

"Sounds familiar."

"I'm trying to pound it into your head before you go run up to a Nightmare and ask it to be your best friend."

"I know what would happen," he said, then paused, thinking, his hand poised beneath his chin. "Knowing what you know now, do you still believe in kill on sight?"

My hands put down the knife, picked it up my again, fiddled with the handle, noting the slight bend still left over from when it had been crushed under the dragon's claw, all of it to avoid the subject.

Kill on sight was the wisdom taught to me since birth. One dragon had flipped that wisdom on its head.

"I don't know."

"First time for everything."

"I really don't know. You keep bringing up these hard things and I've never been asked them before. If it was a raid – of course, kill on sight."

"But in the wild. Would you kill on sight if you saw a dragon you didn't know and it didn't know you were there?"

"It depends. I wouldn't want to take on a Nadder in open ground, of course."

"Well that's not my point. Just the principle."

"No… not unless I needed to. If it was stealing stuff I would."

Hiccup's eyes were searching. "So you'd give them a chance."

"I guess I might."

"Astrids don't say 'I guess'."

"Do we have to be talking about dragons?"

"It's interesting. Everything else seems ordinary when we can be talking about dragons."

"I thought you'd had enough excitement," I said.

Hiccup sighed. "Gee, I think you're right. Say, can I see that boot?"

"Sure. I'd almost forgotten about that."

And we'd been talking, and my concentration had not been on the task at hand. Hiccup examined it, turned it over.

"Well, I'm no judge, but this looks pretty good."

"I hadn't expected you to say so."

"It is, it really is."

"Should we make the next one tomorrow?"

"Sounds like a good idea," said Hiccup. "This thing still needs bootstraps, but I can do that pretty easily."

He put a piece of wood on the fire, and the boot was set aside. My legs were well enough for me to walk into the shelter, and lay myself down, less gingerly than usual.

Hiccup came in, and the two of us almost went to sleep. Then, before unconsciousness claimed me, Hiccup said something.

"Hear that?" he asked, more awake than I was. "Sounds like the beating of wings."

"Makes me want to reach for my axe," came my words.

"Not me," said Hiccup. "I don't feel afraid at all."

Time passed quickly after that, the days sliding by. The boots were finished, and my efforts went into mending Hiccup's coat, ripped in some places and wearing through in all of them. And in the meantime he became a better and better shot, his arrows almost as accurate as mine had been, whether shooting stumps or on the hunt.

He would go and forage in the north-east for a week, and then switch to the south-west, and then north-west, and then south-east. It was his plan, to rotate which sides he would go after game in, and let the animals in the unaffected areas forget about him, and become less wary, so they would be easier to get. And on bad days of hunting, when nothing seemed to come before his eye even with the dragon's help, there were always the traps: a steady source of food, if properly taken care of and moved after every catch.

And so the days went, until one morning in what might have been the month after the first of the year – my birthday month. It was cool, but not cold then, crisp, but not dry.

"Well," began Hiccup. "This is awkward."

He met my glare and did not step back, to his credit. Maybe he was used to it, from enduring it all this time.

I looked back at the dragon dangling me from its nose, a glimmer of mirth in its eyes. Of course it had to show its intelligence now. As long as it didn't try to eat me… it would wish it had never met me, if it tried.

"Your breath stinks," came my words, though it couldn't understand them. "You're too tall for your own good. And don't expect me to eat your throwup."

And it snorted. My eyes glared harder, and it mock-glared back.

"How'd you get up there anyway?" asked Hiccup. "I mean, it's not like you tried to climb on its back." And he sounded like he wanted to do exactly that.

"You think?" was my question, and my arm wrapped strategically around the Nadder's horn to keep me from falling. If my knees folded when my feet hit the ground and the snow was thick enough, it wouldn't be too bad. Of course, I'd rather have stayed out of the mess in the first place.

"Well, no, but -"

"It picked me up while I was walking around camp."

"Uhh. Having fun?" Hiccup asked, both to me and the dragon, the beginnings of a grin on his face.

"You're enjoying this," I said.

"Not too much. Besides, it's funny."

"Isn't."

"It's funny to me. Put Astrid up in a tree or something, uh – no. I suppose it's time you get down from there," he said, and then, under his breath, something which sounded like 'we need a name for her'.

"Let's see if the boots hold," I said, getting ready to drop down. The dragon did nothing, and my glare intensified.

"I hope so," said Hiccup. "They're my stitches."

And my arm let go, feet hitting the ground and knees folding to take the force, as they were supposed to. The snow was deep enough.

"Well, they held," said Hiccup. "Although I'd like to make them taller with the next version."

The dragon shook its head and chortled. On second – or third thought, it did strike me as a she.

And so it went. On the first day after that, Hiccup made his boots, with a higher cut sleeve for protection against the snow, and thinner soles, so it wouldn't feel like he was walking around on bricks all the time, a large problem with my footgear. On the second day, bright and cloudless and cold, I found myself leaning against the dragon's scales, taking a break from walking about a little, so as not to strain my ribs. The scales were warm, even cooled by the freezing air, and their rough texture was comfortable to the touch. By the third day, I was convinced; the dragon did need a name. By the fourth day, I was wondering what it would be; a few nights later, I was sure.

"You were saying the dragon needed a name. Did you come up with one?" I asked over the fire one evening, unsure of how to say what I wanted to say.

Hiccup mumbled something that sounded like 'Squall'.

"I was thinking on those lines," came my words. "What with the gale that landed us here. Maybe she crashed in a gust."

And Hiccup picked up on the change, put his hand to his chin. "She?"

"Is it alright if I call her Stormfly?" I said, forging ahead.

"How come you changed your mind?" he asked.

"When I was hanging up on her nose," said I, and Hiccup fought a losing battle against the smile trying to spread itself over his face. "It's more than just a smart animal."

And Hiccup nodded, and said "Yeah," and the smile went away from him, even though he had known all along, and had every right to gloat. Somehow he knew just what to say next.

"I'm not going to hold it over you."

And that was that, and good, because it meant he forgave.

What happened after that felt like a mosaic of scenes; tiny instances combining to make a whole. Walking around the camp more; learning to shoot my bow again; patching the shelter; trying to scrape a stone into an axe head – that failed, but it was good practice. Carrying firewood, to rebuild my strength, and going on ever longer walks on days when the weather warmed and little icicles frosted onto the trees, the ice left behind by melting snow, though the ground was still frozen.

The boots fell apart quickly, and that was to be expected, since they weren't leather. Hiccup, ever the resourceful one, rubbed warm rabbit fat into the hide when he was making his second pair, and they lasted longer.

And at last, after what felt like a month and a half but was really less, by the markings on the day stick, we set out to the old camp we'd abandoned during the fall, back when my strength had been at its peak and our fortunes had been looking up, before the wolves came.

 _Their leader the black; proud and regal, thief though he was._

He'd died to my arrow, and his fate had served him right, for taking what was rightfully ours. But his death had brought bad blood.

"Stormfly's following us," said Hiccup, looking to the sky as we trekked through the woods again, the sky as dim and pallid as it was when we had trudged out of the dragon's den that day; alive and whole, and that had been a miracle to me at the time.

My boots were taller than they'd been, and the snow no longer spilled into them, did not form balls of ice on my socks as it had. The northerly wind now blew warmth from the west, and more slowly, so that the chill did not make my face feel like leather. We were no longer in danger of dying of hunger: in a hide pouch was smoked meat, enough to last us the trip, along with new bandages and a splint, in case of a fall – or if any wolves had survived – and pieces to make traps.

Then, as now, my ribs had ached, but then the sprain had been more recent; the trek more dangerous because of the dragon who we'd thought would pursue us.

Stormfly wheeled above, then turned and soared to the west, toward the old camp.

"She's bored if she's taking time from her day to follow us," came my words.

"Probably full," said Hiccup, looking above him to see if he could catch a glimpse of blue scale. "Maybe she doesn't have anything else to do but preen."

"As if dragons were giant birds. Watch out."

Hiccup brought his eyes back down to earth, noticed the tree he might well have walked into if he'd kept staring at the sky.

"Thanks," he said, sidestepped the oak.

A moment later he caught his foot and tripped. A quick hand helped him pull himself up, and he brushed himself off with his newly mended coat-sleeve.

"Never would've seen that one coming," he said.

We trudged on, but it was a good kind of trudge, if compared to the times before we'd come to the new camp.

"That tree's going to bud soon," said Hiccup, pointing at a kind that was an early bloomer.

"Then I'm sixteen," came my words.

"Really?"

"My birthday's in February."

"I don't think you told me that," said Hiccup. "Mine's on the twenty-ninth of February."

"Then you're sixteen too."

"We won't know, will we?" he asked.

"When the ice melts, then we'll be sixteen for sure."

"They'll have kept the time at home; when we get there we'll know."

"No ship could get through the ice this early in the year," came my words.

"Oh. That makes sense."

"Thought you would've realized that by now."

"I had forgotten."

There was the dragon again, blue scale flashing even in the day's dim light.

"She cleans herself somehow," came my words.

"I'd thought so," said Hiccup.

Stormfly climbed almost to the clouds, rolled and dived down until she was almost skimming the trees.

"Showoff."

"I think she's just having fun."

"But showing off while doing it."

Hiccup shrugged. "Hopefully she won't crash."

"If this is what the girls do, I wonder what male Nadders are interested in."

"Raiding," said Hiccup, with a completely straight face. "Get battle scars from Viking axes. Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like something Tuff would do, if he was a dragon."

"He'd be a Zippleback and make stuff blow up."

"That is more like his character," said Hiccup. "I haven't seen him in such a long time. I mean, I don't like the guy, but he's got brains in there."

"He's nutty."

"Sometimes smart people are," said Hiccup, and tapped his own head. "Though I think the only thing people thought when they saw me was 'screwup'."

"Including me."

"Used to include you. Now you don't."

"Of course not."

And then the two of us lapsed into a sort of traveler's silence for a while. The woods were familiar now, though distant. It felt like a long time since my feet had walked these paths, yet truly it had been only a few months. How much it felt like it had changed – the ground with covered with snow, little icicles hanging from the trees instead of leaves – but how little it actually had.

The ground sloped down to where we were, little ravines dipping into a sharp, rocky creek-bottom heading down to the sea. We climbed out of the stream-bed and ascended from there, skirting around the summit of a tall hill.

"Iron peak," said Hiccup, looking up through the trees at the top of the rise. "Since now, I suppose."

"You were excited to find it."

"Sure was."

"Me, not so much."

"Do you want to climb it?"

My muscles needed the work.

"I'm going to," came my words, and my path turned from skirting the slope to ascending up it. The snow was slicker than it usually was, easier to melt under my boots, because it was warm, and the surface was glazed in places where the ice had half-turned to water, then frozen into an icy crust. The rocks were bare where the snow had slid off, and covered with brown moss, moss that would soon become green.

A large step over a ravine – my legs were more tired than they should have been, and Hiccup noticed. He leaped across, turned and held out a hand.

"Need some help?"

It was tempting and convenient, and he could be relied on not to let me drop, but…

"I'll have to do it myself, sorry."

"Be careful," he said. "Don't trip on any rocks."

Rebuilding my strength.

Rebuilding; that was it.

I jumped, made it to the other bank, barely. The snow crumbled underneath me and my body began to fall…

My arm shot out for a tree branch, pulled me up until my legs could find their footing on the snowy ground, perhaps to Hiccup's chagrin.

"Guess I didn't get to help you this time."

"There won't be a next time."

"I'm here if there is."

We kept climbing, into rocky, sandy ground that stained the snow dirty grays and browns, where the trees were stunted and eventually reduced to bushes. Here was the top, and my breath was winded from the ascent, though it had been shorter than my remembrance. From here almost the entire island was visible; here to the eastern end, and the western end, and the headlands that jutted out as if they were the pommels of a great sword rising from the sea, and the ocean that had lost its pack ice, though icebergs still drifted in its waters.

"Hullo, what's that?" asked Hiccup, pointing east, at a rise in the earth at the sword's point, its sides falling away steeply to the ocean so that the island still retained its shape, even though there was a ridge at its end, its slopes clear of vegetation.

Suddenly the view from here seemed less grand.

"A bigger bluff," came my words. "From there you could really see everything."

"Every time I saw it I thought it was just the next hill," said Hiccup. "Looks like I was wrong. And how didn't we see it, when we were here last?"

"You were too interested in the iron rocks, remember?"

"Doable, with dragon fire," said Hiccup. "But it's pointless to worry about it, because getting all the things together to use it might take until next year, and by then we'll be back at Berk, or on a ship to it."

"And what if we're still stranded next winter?"

"Hopefully not. But if that does happen, then we have this," he said, and he kicked a boulder with his boot. It made a little thump and dented the thin wooden sole. "Not just for rebuilding, but building."

"Stormfly's nowhere to be seen. Hunting?"

"I think she's preening," said Hiccup.

Of course he's being ridiculous, because dragons don't preen.

"We'd better move so we can get to the rock while there's still an hour of daylight left," came my words.

"Or two," said Hiccup. "I'll need to get a fire going and enough wood for it to burn through the night."

We descended the hill faster than we had ascended it and set off through the now familiar forest, though we had spent less time here than we had at the new camp – and wasn't that a strange thought, to realize that so much time had passed since we'd left a place we'd used to call home.

The roar of waves crashing on the beach grew louder then, accompanied by the splash of spray, and the forest thinned.

"Here we are," said Hiccup, and there we were, the camp opening up before us, lit by the waning sun, its whitened disk low in the clouds that stretched through to the faraway horizon. There was a dip in the ground, a swale, lined by rock, and in the middle of the swale a small knoll, and behind all of it the Rock, the boulder that had protected us from the worst of the growling winds and the chilling cold on nippy nights. That was how it had been, but now the place was almost buried by snow, and the knoll was only a small rise in the snow.

Against the rock was the remnants of our shelter; a plain old lean-to of pine boughs, now fallen apart. One end stuck out of the white, and there was a bit of moss on the end, the moss that Hiccup had used to tie the structure together, though most of it was gone by now; eaten by the deer; washed away by fall rains.

I walked over to the place where the shelter had been and my boot hit rock. My eyes turned downwards to see, and there was the remnants of the fire pit, the one that had been half inside the shelter, half out of it.

A kearning call rung out in the air and that was the dragon's cry, and I looked up and saw Stormfly, back at last. She rose above the trees, flared her wings to slow her down and plopped down, hit the ground feet-first and made a furrow with her tail.

"Hello," said Hiccup. "We'd been wondering where you'd gone."

And she hopped off and rolled in the snow as perfectly as you'd please, covering herself in it, then shook herself off, held out a wing and began to preen.

"Guess I was right," said Hiccup.

And he was.

We cleared away the snow where we could and uncovered the fire pit. Here was where much game had been skinned and cleaned under my knife, and there was a little bit of history in these stones, history made by ourselves. It was regular work, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet it sparked a small sense of something not quite happiness, not quite sadness at the remembrance of the place.

I started the fire, thinking of how Hiccup had done it the first time, and then the two of us walked down to the beach, walked down to where we had washed up on this island upon which we had cast our lot.

 _Paddling in the ocean, the frigid water sapping at my strength, Hiccup struggling for air as the rain fell in torrents. A wave and then blackness… a gasp… a shore ahead… the last of my energy expended in a mad dash… the sea threw us onto the sand… and I lost consciousness._

What had happened here was something special; it had changed both of our lives, probably for the worse, but maybe, considering our friendship, for the better.

* * *

An hour had gone by and we had explored the beaches, chattered about our past, imagined our future. And now I had found myself something to do.

The bow fit perfectly in my hands, as it had been designed to. An imaginary arrow fitted to the string – my hand pulled it back and let go with a snap of the wrist – _twang –_ and the arrow flew a hundred yards and knocked loose an icicle from a tree on the edge of the woods. It plummeted to the ground, but there was no sound, for there had been no arrow to make it fall.

"Nice," said Hiccup. "How do you flick your wrist like that?"

"Practice," came my words. "Bet I can hit that stump over there."

Hiccup looked at it. A tree had been broken from its trunk, years past, and lay on the snow, but its base was still rooted in the ground. It jutted up from the earth by three feet, and it was a little more than twenty paces away, maybe twenty-five.

"Don't know if I could make that shot," said Hiccup, hand to his chin again. "If I tried a dozen times I could probably scrape the bark."

I was already nocking the arrow to the string.

Protection Rock was behind me, the broken lean-to at my side, and rocks all around me, berming the swale that was our old camp. A step up to the knoll in the center, and it brought me higher, more able to get a fix on my target.

Stormfly perked up, perhaps wondering what I was aiming for.

A squirrel chittered in the trees, putting up a big fuss. It stopped and I waited, and when it began again I drew and let go, aiming low to keep the power of _Silencer_ from overshooting into the brush.

 _Twang –_ and my eyes watched the real arrow arc through the air and fell into the snow with a piff and a little plume of ice. Too near and too far to the left.

Higher next time, and a bit right, and the arrow fell far but straight, the geyser of snow just visible over the stump.

"I'm out of practice," came my words.

"Third time's the charm," said Hiccup.

"I'd prefer if it was the first."

I nocked the third, aimed and was ready to draw when Hiccup said, "Don't bump Astrid."

And coming up at my side was Stormfly, her talons half-sunken in the snow, the tips of her claws piercing into frozen dirt. She warbled and peered closer, blue head close enough to stab, if I was quick enough – but that was an old thought, an old thought that didn't belong. There'd been a time when my thoughts had been about how many Nadders would die at my hands, dragons just like this one. Those times seemed oddly repulsive to me now, though it had been justified.

My heart still thumped at the dragon's presence; my instincts were still to run or to fight.

But I was more than my instincts.

I steadied my hands, aimed again and shot. Stormfly's eyes followed the arrow, saw it reach its apex and plunge downwards, straight into the wood with a solid thunk, the feathers set quivering at its end.

The third time really was the charm.

When I went over to collect the other arrows, the head was firmly buried into the bark, and needed some pulling to get out. Before my strength had been enough to pull it out easily; now the task was difficult.

And I had used to call Hiccup a toothpick.

"Can I try?" he asked.

"I don't see any reason why not," came my words, and he stepped over and took the bow from my hands.

His first shot missed wide; his second skipped off a stone and tumbled into the snow; his third overshot by five feet and sent up a plume of snow. But his fourth connected with the side of his target, and two more tries landed an arrow roughly in the middle.

"Good shots, good shots," I said.

"Stormfly could try, mayhap," said Hiccup, collecting his arrows. "Think she's a better shot than you?"

My eyes looked over to the dragon, walking around the old camp as if she owned the place. Every so often she'd stop and check the ground, most of the time where there were ruined pieces of our old structures left.

"Of course not," came my words. "It took me time to get good."

But then came the memory of the quills smashing into the snow below me; a half-circle beyond which my feet would have been foolish to tread. There was good aim.

My boot crushed a piece of flint, stepping back, and I looked down and remembered that day when we'd made the first fire on this island, and my hand had been cut by the rock's razor edge. My eyes looked down at it and it turned so they could see its palm, little white scars criss-crossing where it'd been cut before.

Almost all of them gained preparing to fight in a war that was far away now.

There was the dragon beside me, and my hand itched to yank my knife out of my belt and kill with it.

Because that had worked well in the cave – and there was Hiccup's sarcasm getting to me.

Stormfly stepped up to the knoll, and I stepped back, Hiccup walking forward with the bundle of arrows clutched in a hand.

"Hiccup, move out of the way."

"Why?"

"Because when the dragon flicks her tail you're going to get hit."

"Oh oh oh, sorry."

He ducked into the swale and came over to my side. "I don't think she would've skewered me," he said.

"She didn't see you."

"Dragons have good vision."

"You were walking up to her in her blind spot."

He thought, and then his face lit up red when he realized exactly what I meant. "It would've been funny," he said. "Would've scared me out of my wits."

And he was thinking back to when he'd come into camp and seen me dangling from Stormfly's nose, asking, in a roundabout way, why I hadn't taken revenge on his laugh and let Stormfly whack him.

"I didn't want you to get skewered, alright?"

"Thanks for the warning. I like my body as it is," he said, and then added, "Didn't used to."

"Really?"

"Ah… well, it was a bit of an open secret. Do you think she'll hit the first time she tries?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Nadders fire so many quills at once it's cheating."

Hiccup peered closer.

"I think she will."

"I think she'll use five darts and hit one."

Stormfly flicked her tail and let fly. Three blue blurs in the air - three piffs in the snow – and a dragon-thorn embedded itself in the wood, off center but close.

"Four shots," said Hiccup. "That's my score. And the tree trunk's getting perforated."

"The bark's not falling apart yet," came my words. "There's only four holes in it yet."

Stormfly chirped and tilted her head.

"You did alright," said someone, and it was supposed to be Hiccup, but instead it was myself.

She whipped her tail again, and Hiccup winced when he saw it. If he'd been standing a little left of where he'd been, and a little closer, and she'd shot… ow.

 _Thump thump piff piff._

"Two for four," said Hiccup, ruining the good mood. My score had been one in three. I took up my bow again and went up to the knoll.

"What are you doing?" asked Hiccup.

"Politely telling Stormfly to move aside."

"I think she gets the hint," said Hiccup, watching me shove at the dragon. She squawked and jumped off the knoll, surprised by my pushiness.

Hiccup watched me shoot, announced, "Nil for one, one for two, two for three. Gonna go for a fourth?"

"Why not?"

 _Twang swish_ _thunk._ Bark flew off the tree trunk and landed in the snow in bits.

"Three for four," said Hiccup, leaning back on the rocks. Either a chuckle was welling in his craw or I didn't know him. "Got a contest now?"

"Yep."

There was the chuckle. "This'll be fun to watch."

And he knew that whatever my mind was set to, it did, and was good at, or would become good at. Step aside, Stormfly; there was a new markswoman to contend with.

Hiccup pulled the day stick from his belt, picked at it with a fingernail, as if itching to add a notch. He wouldn't do that till the day was over and done.

"Stormfly's turn," he said, and watched the dragon do me one better. "Four for five. Try not to take it too seriously."

"I'm not," I said. The old me would have interpreted taking it seriously as turning around and shooting Stormfly. "Trust me, I'm not."

"Alright," said Hiccup, and leaned back, taking in the view. "Never thought this place would be nostalgic."

"I don't like it," came my words, while my hands were busy finding an arrow. "This place is full of rose-colored fog only you can see."

"It's a landmark, somehow," said Hiccup. "Our first camp. Besides, it's a thin rose-colored fog."

I began to shoot. The first four went perfectly – and then the fifth missed. The sixth connected, and that was five for six. Then I trudged over to collect the arrows, valuable as they were.

Stormfly came back to the knoll and one-upped me again, but that was alright – and before I never would have thought it was alright, to be one-upped – it was alright, because it was only practice, and losing here only meant my shots were not as good as Stormfly's. Still better than Hiccup's.

And it didn't matter, all that, if my shots were better than hers this time, which they were.

It was enough to be very good, and not perfect; for the first time, maybe, I realized that no one would ever be perfect, and that included myself.

Stormfly did nine for ten.

So what was there to do, if not chase perfection; be next to perfection? Was good enough truly good enough?

It couldn't hurt to work to be the best at one thing, but it did hurt to be the best at everything. That was next to impossible – somewhere out there, someone was next to the best at everything, but wasn't, and I could strive to be good at everything, but might never be.

Some people hunted or fished or trapped better than others, and while those others could learn those skills, they might never be as good as the Viking who'd focused on them from day one.

Case in point; Hiccup, chief of infuriating grins.

"It's getting late," he said.

The sun wasn't too dim.

"You two are going to have to cut it out if you want a warm dinner before dark."

"Fine. I would've won, too."

"You're getting tired. I can see it."

My first thought was to say 'am not', my second was an acknowledgment that what he said was true. "I'll practice tomorrow, then."

And now the fire was warm; perfect for food, or to sit by. We held jerky over the flames and let it heat, then ate. It was still cool on the inside, cool as if it had almost never been heated at all, but it was smoked, and that tasted good, and the outside of it was hot, almost as real meat, and that tasted better.

"You were saying, before," came my words, "that we should make a second camp here; put up the lean-to again, expand it somewhat."

"Do you think we shouldn't?" asked Hiccup.

"I think we could go bigger."

Hiccup made a face of mock-dismay.

"When the ground warms we could put in poles, like a tent, and then build a small cabin around that."

"And make a model of a longhouse," said Hiccup. "Put it inside to remind us of our future plans."

Stormfly had disappeared, I noticed. Probably hunting.

"There's only so much work the two of us can do."

"It might take a couple years but…" began Hiccup.

"We won't be here that long."

"I hope not."

"But think! I could put a fire-pit under it, have the warmth rise into the place from below, and a forge there as well…"

"A forge under a house made out of wood," came my words, and took the wind out of his sails. "Who's going to be dashing around putting out the blazes?"

"Me," said Hiccup. "Wait, no, that's not what I meant."

"Hah. Stormfly's back."

She was. And, naturally, talk turned to the dragon.

"She likes you more than she likes me," came my words.

"I dunno. You two had that shooting competition."

"And I would've won, if you hadn't called it off."

"You tied, you tied," he said. "Look, if you win you have a righteous accomplishment. And I'd be honored to be almost as good as she is, to say nothing of drawing. So you not winning against her, that's nothing to worry about. I'd be more worried if you lost to Ruff or Tuff, on the other hand."

"They would have to have been training since I got Silencer for that to happen – since you gave it to me."

"Well, then they'll be opponents you can respect," he said.

"I realized," came my words, "that I can't be the best at everything."

"Most people can only be the best at one thing, maybe two. You'll probably grow up to have the best skill in a lot of things, learn a lot of things," he said, and then; "You just thought of this now?"

"It was more of a slow realization."

"Well, that's alright too."

"But I still take pride in my work. It's mine, and I've done it. And when I've done it well I have all the more reason to be proud."

"Is that why?"

"Is that why what?"

"Do you do things to be proud?"

"To show I have the skill. I have done, I have weathered. I can be proud."

"Have you ever tried to make someone else proud?"

My accomplishments served to show up my younger brothers, and Torenn sometimes. There was one…

"My father."

Suddenly Hiccup took the day stick and swung it at the air, frowning, brows knit as if he was angry.

My words had mentioned my father. Hiccup had told me he didn't have the best relationship with his. They were of blood, but were not friends.

The chief had tried to train his son in the Viking way, and something had happened, as if Hiccup had not been willing to live up to his father, or unable.

"Is it Stoick?"

"Yep."

"When you get back you'll be different. He'll be grateful to see you again."

"I hope so," said Hiccup. He looked at Stormfly. "After all, the dragons need toothpicks… Whatever I do, it's never enough to make my dad proud. When I get home I'll be different, but he'll probably still see me in the same way after the welcome wears off. He might've even disowned me by now."

"Of course he won't have," came my words. "Then he won't send a rescue ship."

"He'd better," said Hiccup. "I don't like my chances paddling back home in a raft. And the game on this island – the animals that live here might support us and the dragon, but not all three. There's the fish, but they aren't around in the winter, and Stormfly needs to eat. Five more years of hunting like this and the prey will be gone."

Bleak, but possibly true, unless Stormfly left.

Hiccup looked back at her, curled up just outside the circle of firelight, as if listening.

"We could fly there."

"I know what you're thinking, Hiccup. I've already done something crazy by following you onto this island, remember? I'm not going to throw it all away and do something insane."

Hiccup kept looking at Stormfly.

"It'll be harder to build ourselves wings."

"Impossible."

"So why bother?"

A sigh from me. "I'd congratulate you on your master plan to befriend the enemy so that it could fly us out of here, if only that plan had a chance in Niflheim of working out."

Hiccup listened to that too, said; Where'd you get that idea? That was never my plan – I didn't even have a plan. Besides, Stormfly is a friend. If she wants to fly us out of here it'll be her own choice."

He moved to put something on the fire.

"Careful! That's the day stick," came my words, and he pulled it out of harm's way. I leaned back, and watched my breath form little clouds of fog in the cooler air away from the fire, almost as orange as the flames themselves but with a paler, softer glow. Then my arms fell to my lap, fell from where they had been crossed.

Hiccup relaxed. It didn't strike me as right, for me to seem mad at him, not like that.

"I take pride in what I've done, too," said Hiccup. "And I've gotten Stormfly to not eat us."

"It's not fun to be dragon chow."

"Hah," he said. "But… sometimes it felt like Stoick was only the man I called father."

"But you still do."

"Force of habit."

And the conversation ended on that vein, just then. Hiccup didn't like the memories of his father; mine was far, far away. The cold had grown more biting – we were used to it by now. And above us the clouds vanished into the east and the sky cleared, and there were many stars, but only a dark circle and a circle of light to mark the presence of the moon.

The fire was allowed to burn to embers, sleeping arrangements were made. And then, with the stars still twinkling with their cold light and the constellations hanging in the sky – then I fell to slumber.


	27. All Good Things Come to an End

**Written: September 1st – October 5th, October 5th - December 14th.**

 **Nobody got the cookie from last time, I see. Sad.**

 **"What do you call a fruit that is never alone?"**

 **Without further delay and ado, I present to all of you the chapter you've been waiting for for such a long time I'm trying to forget just how long it actually was. Traumatizing.**

* * *

When Stulte came to Ireland, it was because of exhaustion, the knowledge that if he pushed himself any harder, he would drop, and so he had landed on the nearest sizable shore.

"Thar's a free land," said another Nadder once, an outlaw whom Stulte had met on his travels. "Time I'm done with my business out here, I'll head home to it."

"What's your business?"

But the stranger gave him an odd eye and would not tell, cutting short the conversation and flying away soon after. Stulte did not ask that question again, but left that place.

And when fall turned to winter, Stulte kept looking, island to island, only quickening when the cold began to take its toll. But he remembered what the outlaw had said, and worked his way closer to the mainland. And when a cold snap came, and the weather only promised to get worse, he knew where he had to go.

He'd met Forster here, at this very pond, and from there their friendship had grown; set back at times, but never destroyed. Forster knew him as Cain and he knew Forster as Forster, and the two had always respected that.

Here he looked for Ocean occasionally, combing the countryside, asking anyone he met. He never saw nor heard anything hopeful, but went on in spite of that. There were girls there too, nice Nadders and nice families he'd seen, and they tempted him, they did.

Always his stubbornness saved him, the same stubbornness that had made him fly through that storm. If that wasn't ironic he'd eat his heart out.

And in the meantime, Forster painted him a whole new worldview; of a place where everyone was free to do anything that he liked with what he had, as long as it didn't keep anyone else from doing what he wanted, and so everyone was free of obligation except to those they preferred to be obligated to. That, Forster said, was a free land, not even a free kingdom, or country. There was no Tyrant, no 'Her Ugliness', and Ireland was the better for it. Save for the border conflict with the English dragons, which had been going on for millennia, but that was another matter.

"You knew about these shores, when you left," said Forster once, framing the question as though he were sure of himself.

"Didn't," said Stulte.

"More's the pity," remarked Forster. "Many a grand, and no idea of freedom."

And by now Stulte knew that by grand, Forster meant thousand, thousands of dragons.

Months later, here they were, standing by the pond in the early morning just after the sun had risen and there was still a tinge of blue light left on the ground, the scattered clouds still a mosaic of beautiful colors. Forster tapped Stulte on the shoulder.

"When're you going to go find your girl, Cain?"

"I don't know where to look."

"Wal, there's a few things I know about where you're lookin', a few isles she could've gone to," said Forster. "Reddish, Scale. Spine Point is nearer to where you looked."

"Spine?"

"Long, rough. They say it looks like a human weapon; sharp 'n pointy."

"All of them are sharp and pointy."

"Cept the ones with rocks tied to them," said Forster, with some satisfaction.

"Oh," said Stulte, who'd never seen a human weapon himself, or if he had, hadn't recognized it. "Well, there's those."

Forster shifted, held out one wing and pointed it towards the sea. "Like a stick, only headlands jut out from each side, across from each other, pointing north and south. That's Spine, and you can't tell it wrong."

If he said so.

Then:

"You've combed this land so many times I wonder how your girl could possibly have squirreled away from you," said Forster, "One of life's great mysteries."

They chuckled.

The frigid winter nights passed to cold winter days, and cold winter days passed to chilled winter nights, and as time passed, the sun set later and rose earlier in the sky, its light warmer than it had been before.

"Spring is coming," said Forster once, on one of his visits, when the air had become so humid that day it made Stulte's scales itch, and water dripped from the icicles that hung on the dark cliff boulders, icicles that formed on evergreen leaves and grew from tree boughs until the forests resembled a field of crystal. "Won't be long till winter's gone, and the birds of summer will come north again. The farmers will bring out their plows and the rabbits will change their coats."

Stulte looked up, saw the green buds sprouting from the branches of oak trees, looked down and saw the blades of grass, poking up from the slush between his talons.

"A good time to be alive, eh," said he, talons crunching the thin ice of the pond where they'd first met.

"Grass as far as the eye can see, and game, Cain."

Always the game with Forster, his enjoyment of the hunt.

"This place looks different even in the winter," said Stulte, now Cain. "Compared to where I come from."

"That barren's a dead old rock and everyone knows it," said Forster, and he snorted.

The two began to walk along the edge of the pond, towards the trampled old rushes and brush.

"I killed my first elk here."

"Bull moose."

"I'm the one who scored, not you."

The ground squished under his feet, and bits of slush clung at them, though he was stepping in two feet of snow. A breeze blew, not so frigid as the gusts of a month past, but merely cooling to a dragon, rustling the trees and causing the icicles to jingle; like the ring little bits of metal make when they bang against each other, only, Stulte decided, with a more happy tone.

"Sure is beautiful out here."

There was a comfortable silence, both of them resting on their feet.

"So," said Forster after a while. "When're you going to go find your girl?"

"I don't know," said Stulte. "It's good enough weather for it."

Weight. That burden of the search which had been lifted from him by the months of relative ease came hurtling back down to him.

"I always knew I had to leave," he went on, "but now that it's not far off…"

"Tomorrow," said Forster. "Or the day after that. A storm is coming tonight; I feel it in my bones, and best not to start off on such short notice, or you'll forget something."

"Like the galoot I am, that's what you're probably thinking," said Stulte, or Cain. He really was Cain now, yet Ocean would know him by his old name, his birth name.

"You know me well, but not well enough," said Forster, "for I was going to call you a cricket."

Stulte fluffed his wings, his muscles already loose now that the air was warmer, the wind less harsh.

Would she still be the same? Did she yet possess an impetuous spirit, as he had had, and now hoped he had not kept? If she was still alive – which she was – then she'd be changed. The last flight they'd gone on could've ended differently., might've, would've, didn't. He still remembered that race around the tiny islet, an islet he could never find again in a thousand miles of ocean.

"Where is Spine?" asked Stulte, going back to their earlier conversation. "It's named Spine Island?"

A pause as Forster thought back, rummaging through the scroll-shelves of his memory. "Spine, that was it, thank you. West, obviously, and a little north, since we're on the south part of the coast of Ireland. Use the spring sun as your guide, a claw-spread to the right, where the summer dawn rises."

"I haven't seen many of those," said Stulte, thinking back those rare times when he'd watched the sun's glow spread. "The smoke where I came from, it blocks the light."

"The fog-mire keeps it out? Your childhood must've been miserable."

But it wasn't where he was now, was it? And the chance he'd see it again was the chance a snowflake would survive his fire-breath.

"I searched north last year; didn't find anything. I worked back against the storm winds but… didn't help."

"Maybe you overcorrected."

"And my senses were dulled by the storm," finished Stulte, jaw set. "If I see any of the islands I saw I'll head south this time, see what I get. Wish I had a chart. Reminds me that I should take along the things I came here with, show her that I really am me."

"The amount of flying you'll be doing you could jog down a chart of your own," said Forster, and Stulte thought back to the roll of scrolls he'd brought; obtained by Nayla for whatever reason, useless ever since.

"That idea isn't half-bad," he said. "but how I'm to do it with these big claws -" and here he casually waved a leg bearing talons the size of large jigsaw blades - "I have no clue. I can barely scribble in the dirt with a pole."

"There's a reason why we Nadders don't usually do it," said Forster. "It's going to be lonely around here without you making some noise. Maybe I'll pay a visit to some of my friends east of here; more apt to it."

Stulte kicked a dead branch and it flew over the thin ice and hit and skimmed across the surface with a whirring like a half-whistle made from the throat instead of the lips, then slid into the water in the middle of the pond with a _sploop_ and a tiny ripple.

"Terrors?"

"Not any kind you'd come across regular," said Forster. "It's real, you leaving so soon?"

Never thought he'd hear that plaintive tone coming from someone like Forster, but here it was, and then it'd be gone.

"You suggested it," said Stulte. Besides; he'd promised himself. To shy away now would be betraying his honor – or was it pride? "I can spend today composing my things -" and here he looked west, seeing the hazy pall rising up over the horizon, a horizon that seemed to stretch into distance until it disappeared as it always did -"while the storm blows, and tomorrow getting my muscles together, and I guess that means I'll be leaving day after tomorrow. I wonder if – I wonder if I'll be leaving the same day I left when we got away from that island."

And left a friend behind. Her name was Nayla, that was right, and she had better have gotten away, or… or what? An older Stulte refrained from making threats he could never carry out. Best to keep on hoping, quietly.

"I'd best get working," he said. "Will you be here to see me off?"

"I will," said Forster; that ubiquitous promise, the same as made by two dragonets arranging a meeting, and rarely kept; but this was Forster and he knew the risk, knew the loneliness of weeks without talking to anybody, never given assurance, and Forster would turn up…

"You were late last time," said Stulte, prodding at a joke now old between them.

Forster had nothing to say to that now, and the two fluffed their wings in the moist spring air, turned, and flew away; ships of old putting into port before one of them departed on a long voyage.

Or something like that. They would have had to stay in port anyway, for out of the west came a great sleet-storm, shapeless gray haze rising over the horizon, morphing into pancake-like clouds; flat as a cobbler's stone, yet these had definition, clefts and rises and promontories similar to the rolling hills and tall valleys and fjords of Ireland's acreage, only the difference was that they were intangible, even to a being who could reach up and touch their shifting vapors, and that intangibility and mystery was what made clouds fascinating to him in a day when he had already flown their altitudes and soared their haunts.

He spent the rest of that day in the cave which he had made his new home, soon to be his home no longer when his bedding lay under the sun and the moon and the stars. The cold stones he warmed with the heat of his fire, and then he looked over his things, what little he had, fiddled with a pebble that had fallen into his living space here, made another scratch on the wall there, charred the floor with a flickering, sighing flame in another place. That he needed time to get his possessions in order was only a half-truth, and Forster must have sensed it, given him time to think.

He might never find her again, for she might really be dead. What distinguished one corpse for another, if indeed her bones survived yet on land instead of sitting at the bottom of the sea? He might wander the world for ever and ever, chasing dreams and vagaries and for what? Perhaps this was his last search. Here was his second departure; soon he would leave, and he ought to be at the pinnacle of his renewed hope, not at the bottom of it, and yet:

And yet he had heard from Ocean once, before, much before they had left, a saying passed down to her from her unfortunate mother. _Success will find you even in the depths of despair,_ and it was only a saying, yet somehow it bolstered hope, because it was something that had come from her, and if he found her he could hear her say it again, and if he had a chance of that, even a slim one, it was worth holding onto and working for, and he rubbed his talon in the soot he had made on the floor and picked up the old, old parchment, unrolled it and wrote the saying down shakily, as a reminder to himself, and when he had finished with all this he settled down and went to sleep next to the warm-stones.

When he emerged the next morning the snow was gone; all of it. The sleet had come and had melted it down into the ground and then it had frozen in a layer of ice that coated the boulders far beneath. Still, the sun was up in a sky where the only clouds were the crescent bank of stormclouds blowing off to the east, and its light was warming and soothing enough that Stulte stopped in the entrance, letting its light soak into his scales and seep into his flesh, and here he remembered another of the sayings of Ocean's family, this time from her father. _You can't do anything halfway,_ he had said, and Stulte dimly remembered hearing him say it a long, long time ago in a deep, gentle voice. A shame he was gone now.

What would he have made of all this?

It was a thought worth bearing.

Stulte recovered the rope and the scrolls and the sort of cover he'd made for them to keep them out of the rain, stiff and huge as his claws were, nothing compared to the dexterous workings of the Terrors, oh, Frot, that was his name. Frot, and what had become of him during the days when Stulte had been gone? It'd been almost a year now, it was, or felt like, but really more like six months, if even that. Time had slowed when maturity had been forced upon him and life had fallen out of its routine.

He put on his things and winged out of the cave at a slow pace. Was it dread of change that made him reluctant to speed up so?

He hunted that morning; missed four easy meals and made a terrible job of the fifth, his mind on other things, yet a part of that same mind recognized that he must embark satisfied, and give himself a good start, lest something go wrong early on and he have to return home to Ireland because of his ineptitude, or worse, plunge into the sea because he had forgotten where his landmarks were.

He found a ledge when he was eating, looked out at the beauty of this land and tried to ignore it, imagining islands taking the stead of oaks, and sea stacks of hills, and so on, and when he had cleared his mind he returned to the pond for what might be the final goodbye.

Forster was there, he really was, looking oddly wistful, not for the first time, yet this time the emotion was in response to something happening in the now instead of an event occurring years in the past. Had he come to like Forster this much, that he was feeling the same sorrow?

"I won't be gone forever, you know," began Stulte, his breathing clipped, though he was perfectly at rest. "I can always come back here and find you again." And wasn't that a concept to remember; permanence, that some highlights of life would always remain and could always be reembraced.

A small, whirling cloud of breath, breaking swiftly into tiny curlicues, yet when they had gone he saw a green tree blossom. Hardy and tough, the young stripling had chosen this day to sprout, fresh melt-water dripping from the tiny leaflings not yet full-grown. Was it symbolic, a sign of a new start? A leaf had bloomed inside him when he'd come to this pond, and now it had matured, and that leaf was hope.

Today was when he began to finish things.

"Good-bye," said Stulte to Forster. "I guess I never told you my real name."

"There was no need, whippersnapper," said Forster, gruff, perhaps to hide that he'd miss Stulte. "Till now, Cain."

"Stulte."

"A good name, for someone such as yourself. Did your parents ever tell you that it means, depending on how you say it, bullheaded or foolhardy in the old language?"  
"I didn't know there was an old language," said Stulte, miffed. "Or if I did I'd forgotten."

"I'll take it to mean brave," said Forster. "though the title fits you. My name is Crimson."

Stulte kicked his feet, ready to take to the sky. "You'll always be Forster to me. You taught me a lot of things. Thank you."

"No. Thank you, Stulte, for bringing some excitement to my life. Same-old, same-old, and then you came along. Good-bye, and take care, especially not to fly into old-timers taking off from ponds!"

"I will!" shouted Stulte, and he took off from their first meeting-place, leaving behind a good friend, an aid, a confidant and a mentor, carrying with him the knowledge that he was a new dragon.

The ship had left port at last.

* * *

The island looked like a charming little place, far enough out of the way that it promised to be a backwater shore, and most people unfortunate enough to stumble upon it would soon leave. That was what she thought about it, at any allowance.

Well, she wasn't stumbling; she was looking, and she had a reason to be out here, because she was looking for something, or rather, someone. And this isle was enough to be it, and its shape almost that of a quill, save for the headlands jutting out on either side, nearer the western shore than the eastern.

She thought in passing that here was a good place to flare back, mess around and do next to nothing, since next to nobody seemed to have been here, or ever would be.

She thought that before she saw the smoke. It rose from near the middle of the island, farther away from the northern coast than the east, from a little clearing in the hilly woods, where some dirty snow still hung from the trees, sheltered by rolling slopes. And there were only a few things smoke meant.

It could mean other dragons, but usually it was humans. Did she search this place anyway, mindful of the men who lived there? - or…?

Well, she hadn't seen very many humans, and it might be worthwhile to watch some, even if there was no one here whom she was looking for. She dived a little, and did a roll. Here was something exciting.


End file.
